


Eclipse Forever

by JeanSchramme



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Codex Entries, During Canon, Eclipse mercenaries, F/M, Gen, Just takes a bit to show up, Mercenaries, Profanity, Slow Burn, Smut, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-05-26 23:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15012170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSchramme/pseuds/JeanSchramme
Summary: When batarian slavers launch a rebellion against the abolitionist government of Anhur, the mercenary soldiers of Eclipse find themselves in the unusual role of liberator. Now, in the midst of a war in which some rather bad people find themselves hired to do good deeds, a young human officer struggles to prove himself to centuries-old commanders, and in the process gets a bit more than he bargained for.Contracts are fleeting, wars are brief, and the human and salarian mercs are mayflies compared to the asari leaders...but Eclipse is forever.Mercenary war story with OCs and a good old-fashioned slowburn romance.





	1. Regrouping

_New Thebes, Anhur, 2176_

The slavers hadn’t left many of the defenders alive.

Wearily trudging through shell-scarred earth, Andre Protin forced himself to look away from the bodies in yellow armor strewn about like scattered ashes. Some of them he’d no doubt known, some of them he’d no doubt led, and all of them were going to be sorely missed. Eclipse had been contracted by the government of Anhur for their experience and expertise, not for their strength in numbers, and to lose this much manpower---and the capital New Thebes to boot---was hardly starting this contract off on the right foot.

Andre pressed a gauntlet to his nose, the better to keep out the stench of decay, and kept trudging through the killing fields. The batarian slavers, the Na’hesit, were thorough, that much was evident, but right now he was wishing the enemy was a bit less good at their jobs. The evac point wasn’t far off, he could hear the whine of a Mantis gunship’s engines idling, but the last thing he wanted to do was arrive puking in front of the other mercs. Humans were a new phenomenon in Eclipse, even this many years after First Contact, and when the leadership consisted of a species that counted a lifespan in centuries it was going to be a long time before they’d fully proved themselves in the eyes of their commanders.

One of those aliens was approaching now, a blue-skinned, fringe-headed woman with a biotic halo surrounding her form. Andre blinked, blearily focusing on the woman, trying to see if her tattoos matched anyone else in his company---but no. The Captain and her Chief Operative had both been killed in an artillery strike, lit up before their biotic barriers could be raised; the other asari platoon leaders had disappeared after the company had fragmented. Whoever this woman was, she wasn’t from Andre’s unit.

And whoever she was, she wasn’t feeling friendly. The asari stormed over to Andre, grabbing him by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. “Hey. Look at me. _Look at me_.”

Andre did, blinking again as he struggled to fight through the fatigue. “Ma’am?”

The asari still had that biotic halo around her; maybe she thought he was a Na’hesit infiltrator, one of those poor slave soldiers in batarian service. “Your IFF’s not showing anything, furhead. Name, rank, and unit.”

Of course it wasn’t; the first bombardment had been airburst EMP rounds. The lack of shields had killed the leadership. The lack of comms had done the rest for unit cohesion. “Andre Protin. Lieutenant. Third Platoon, 41 Company---”

The biotic halo faded from the asari, exchanged for a look of surprise. “41 Company? Athame in tears, we didn’t think any of you had made it.”

Oh. “So there’s no---”

The asari had a nasty scar crosshatching her face, but even her brutal features had softened a bit. She released her vice grip on Andre’s shoulder, shaking her head. “Just you, Lieutenant. Get on the gunship. We’ll get you a new posting soon as we can.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Andre once more started moving towards the gunship nearby, one foot in front of another. With his tunnel vision starting to clear he could see he wasn’t the only one; footsore and battle-weary men and women in yellow armor making their way aboard, with fresher faces and spotless mechs providing security for the landing zone.

They were exhausted, and today they were beaten. But they were _alive_.

For now, that was enough.

He’d never entirely be sure why, but Andre turned round to face the asari officer once more. “Eclipse forever, Ma’am.”

The other woman gave him a shrug, humoring the battle-fatigued furhead. “Yeah. Get out of here, human.”

* * *

 

 _Eclipse Vessel_ Penumbra _, in orbit over Bast, one week later_

Captain Nalethia T’resh towered over Andre by a good several inches, even sitting down, and the asari’s sharp features were focused laser-like on the datapad in front of her, one lacquered nail tapping on the desk as she scrolled through the information on the screen. Eventually, she placed the device on the desk and leaned forward to study the human in front of her, still tapping that nail.

Andre, seated at attention, forced himself to remain focused on the wall just above her head. This wasn’t the first time he’d elicited this kind of half-scrutiny, half-curiosity from his leadership. The salarians had been full of _questions_ , about what he ate, what he did for recreation, and so on and so forth until Andre had perfected the art of the polite deflection for his own sanity. The asari were more content to _study_ , and frankly he found that to be the more uncomfortable of the two.

Especially now: Captain Nalethia had reached out with one hand, turning Andre’s face back and forth, eyes narrowed, before she released him. If she’d noticed how his breath had caught, she neglected to mention it. “Well, for once the medics are right. If you’ve still got any signs of battle fatigue, I’m not seeing it. Relax, and tell me, Lieutenant: are _you_ feeling fit to fight?”

Even if Andre hadn’t been, there was only one way to answer that question when it was posed by a woman who’d been in the mercenary profession for literal hundreds of years. Permitting himself to relax in his seat, he gave a stiff nod. “Yes Ma’am.”

Again the nail tapped, this time at the datapad once more. “Your service record is impeccable, particularly for a human. A commission with the Alliance Marines, saw combat at Shanxi and the Skyllian Blitz, multiple commendations in between...and then a decidedly abrupt end to your career. Still, I must confess, I’m not entirely sure why you signed on with us.”

Andre suppressed a wince at the mention of how he'd ended his time in the Alliance Marines. But once again the Captain ran true to Eclipse form dealing with human newcomers, once again he had an answer ready. “Respectfully, Ma’am, I don’t think it matters much. I’ve done my job to the best of my ability, and will continue to---”

But for once, that was the wrong answer. Captain Nalethia’s eyes flashed, and a biotic halo flared. Andre suddenly felt the air around him harden, propel him backwards, and finally had the wind get knocked out of him as he was slammed into the wall behind him. Wheezing for breath, the Lieutenant managed to look up to see the Captain get to her feet, stalking towards him with one hand held high, keeping him pinned.

“Tell me, Lieutenant, is losing your entire platoon doing your job to the best of your ability?” Even with her biotic corona aflame, Captain Nalethia’s demeanor was the embodiment of calm reason. Andre had heard rumors she’d served as an officer in the asari Republics’ commandos, alongside Eclipse founder Lady Jona Sederis, and an asari officer simply didn’t _yell_ at their subordinates. It was uncouth.

Still. He had to tread carefully. Andre bought time with a couple coughs before replying. “...Ma’am. We took EMP bombardment at the start; that knocked out our mechs, comms, and shields. Follow-up arty took out Captain T’meyeur and the Chief, plus at least two of the other platoon leaders---”

“I’ve read the reports,” interrupted the Captain. “From you, and from battalion leadership.”

Andre kept his voice even as he could, still struggling for breath. “Then you know what happened wasn’t on us at the company level. It was a clusterfuck of the finest order.”

Captain Nalethia’s severe expression had slipped somewhat, her head tilting quizzically. “A what?”

“Ma’am?”

“That word you used, to describe how bad it was.” Nalethia tapped at her ear. “My translator didn’t pick it up.”

Of all the times for cross-language misunderstandings to come into play, this was probably one of the most bizarre. “Ah---clusterfuck, Ma’am. Means just a really, really messed up situation.”

“Clusterfuck.” With her posh tones and glass-cutting vowels, the word sounded absolutely bizarre coming out of the Captain’s mouth. And then she lowered her hand. The biotic flare faded, and Andre was left to collapse to one knee, gasping for breath before standing up. “Interesting. At any rate, Lieutenant, I agree. And have furthermore agreed to have you assigned to myself and 76 Company as a platoon leader.”

Andre’s jaw dropped; after that fiasco he’d been expecting a shitty staff posting somewhere far, far from the frontline, where the leadership could leave the walking reminder of New Thebes to rot. “Ma’am, I---”

“Don’t thank me yet. Command thinks that you humans can hold your own alongside the rest of us; I intend to see if that’s the case.” The Captain activated her omnitool, and the image of a blue-green gas giant surrounded by multiple moons appeared. “This is Sobek. Second planet in the system. Its moons are infested by batarian slave labor camps. We need the raw materials they’re mining to stop going to the Na’hesit---and the PR win that comes with liberating slaves. Galactic opinion turns against the squints, less outside resources they have coming in.”

Andre leaned in, eyes flicking from one miniscule holographic moon to another. “Can’t afford to commit overwhelming force to hit them all at once, not while we have to hold the ground we still have here on Anhur...island-hopping, Ma’am?”

“Precisely. Your platoon will be spearheading the liberation of Heqet. And I will be leading the attack personally.”

Ready and waiting to take over if the furhead couldn’t hack it, no doubt. Fine. He’d give the Captain a show. “Understood, Ma’am.”

Something approaching a smirk tugged at Captain Nalethia’s purple lips. “I’ve yet to see humans in action beyond holovids of Relay 314, Lieutenant. I eagerly await the show. That is all.”

Andre drew himself up to attention and saluted. “Eclipse forever, Ma’am.”

Captain Nalethia crisply returned it. “Indeed. You are dismissed.”

Without further ado, Andre about-faced and took his leave.

 

* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Demographics of Eclipse: Eclipse was created to counter the new force in the mercenary world that was the Blue Suns, and initially was an Asari-only organization. Lady Jona Sederis, Eclipse's founder, was a veteran of the Republics commandos, and initially envisioned a private military company that operated along similar lines of minimal numbers and maximum effectiveness. Sederis initially only recruited Maiden- or Matron-age asari with at least a century of military experience in the Republics or other armed forces, but as Eclipse's prestige and contracts grew in number, it became clear that such an operation was no longer feasible.

At first, Sederis adjusted by extending recruitment to any asari willing to undergo basic combat training by a cadre of NCO instructors at an Eclipse home office, but this remained insufficient to boost numbers. There was also the issue of recruiting for specialties beyond direct action, and the salarian population of the mercenary world had long chafed at their exclusion from the now-entrenched Blue Suns, and spurned the brutish Blood Pack. Seeing an opportunity to gain extensive technical know-how and further boost recruitment, Sederis opened Eclipse's ranks to salarians. It took some more years before humans were allowed to join the organization, and in their initial years were widely perceived as inferior to their asari and salarian counterparts.

Today, Eclipse's ranks are split fairly rigidly among species lines: asari can serve at all ranks, but senior command roles and ranks (Major and above), are all held by asari. Humans can and have served as both non-commissioned officers and company grade officers (Lieutenant and Captain), as well as tech and biotic assault specialists. Recognizing the experience garnered in a relatively short lifespan, Salarians serve as combat engineers and regular soldiers alike, as well as the unique role and rank of "Operative." Each Eclipse platoon has a salarian Operative as second-in-command to serve as the platoon leader's right hand, and at the company level and above a Senior or Chief Operative serves the same role for the unit commander. Above NCOs but not quite officers, Eclipse Operatives bridge the gaps between the two worlds and are expected to represent the concerns of their enlisted mercenaries while simultaneously ensuring that their commander's dictates and orders are carried out. A few rare salarians have also earned officer rank in Eclipse.

There has been some grumbling among Eclipse salarians at the rapid elevation of humans to the company's officer corps, but such promotions remain rare, and by and large Eclipse remains as much the domain of asari now as when Jona Sederis first founded the organization.

 


	2. Command Dynamics

_Eclipse vessel_ Penumbra _, en route to Sobek, 2176_

Operative Renakosh Bryn was the oldest salarian that Andre had ever met, with leathery skin tinted green and red, two horns knocked crooked by old injuries, and clipped tones that made every word sound like it was being uttered between clenched teeth. The wiry old soldier had made his opinion of his new platoon leader _very_ clear from the beginning.

“I don’t see why the Captain had to bring in a _human_ to replace our casualties,” sneered the Operative over a mug of whatever passed for coffee with salarians. “There were more than enough proven salarian and asari officers waiting to assume command, bringing in a refugee from a decimated company accomplishes nothing.”

Andre, sipping some of the worst insta-coffee he’d ever had, made a face. Fortunately Bryn seemed more inclined to attribute it to the drink. “Look, Op, I get where you’re coming from but I don’t think Captain Nalethia would put me here without a good second to---”

“Spare me.” The salarian waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve read enough of your literature to know the mythical importance you place on the bond between a platoon commander and their senior NCO.”

In point of fact, Andre _had_ been hoping that the cadaverous Operative would have had his back in that regard. Good NCOs could make or break officers, and for a lone human finding his way in Eclipse’s ranks that would be doubly critical. “So you know how important it is that we present a unified front to our people. So they know they can trust us---”

“I’ve been with this platoon for four years, Lieutenant. They know they can trust _me_. It’s you they’re concerned about.” Bryn shook his head. “Look. Have you ever considered how weird it is to be literal centuries old and be taking orders from someone less than a quarter of your age? Or to be at the end of your lifespan and be under the command of someone who might as well be a hatchling?”

“I mean, it’s kinda like that in the Alliance with how we commission officers over senior enlisted…” Andre shrugged haplessly. “But they mentor and train us up to fighting shape.”

Bryn stared in bug-eyed disbelief. “That hardly seems conducive to good leadership.”

It...well, it _wasn’t_ but Andre was hardly about to back down now. “The point stands, Op. I’m gonna need you. If you won’t do it for the dirty furhead, at least do it for the people both of us are responsible for.”

That bought the old merc up short, and for a second Bryn clenched his teeth hard enough that it seemed like they were about to shatter. “...very well. Agreed.”

“Cheers, Op.” Andre finished off his coffee and made a gagging noise. “First piece of wisdom I need from you---is there any drink on here that works as a stimulant for humans and _doesn’t_ taste like shit?”

Bryn’s expression remained perfectly deadpan as he leaned in. “Alright, Lieutenant. Pay attention…”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Eclipse vessel_ Penumbra _, in orbit over Sobek fifth moon Heqet, two days later_

The drop bay was full of figures in yellow armor, standing tall in four neat rows, a mixed bunch of asari, salarians, and the occasional human all cannoned up and ready for bear, helmets tucked under their arms. The four squad leaders, asari all, had forgone their helmets, as had the spindly salarian at the head of the formation. At the sound of footsteps from the entrance to the bay, Operative Bryn pivoted about to face the troops: “Platoon! Ten- _SHUN_!”

The clank of armored bootheels crashing together filled the cavernous room, and Bryn pivoted about to face the new arrivals: Captain Nalethia T’resh and a salarian tense as a garotte wire on one side...and on the other, Lieutenant Andre Protin.

The company commander was all effortless grace, stalking up to the head of the formation to exchange salutes with Operative Bryn. “Stand easy, everyone. Your Lieutenant has been kind enough to brief me on your plan to liberate this slave camp. Chief Operative Pek and I will be accompanying the drop.”

Andre, standing with his hands clasped behind his back next to the Captain, briefly scrutinized the formation. The massed ranks of mercenaries stared ahead with solid purpose; it was almost like being back in a proper army again, with the discipline and initiative he’d known in the Alliance Marines.

But this was Eclipse, and in case he’d forgotten that, Captain Nalethia had more to say.”Rules of engagement are simple: you see anything down there moving outside the slaves, you waste them. You see the squints dragging off our wounded, you waste _them_ too. By the time we’ve cleared this moon, only things standing should be yellow armor and some grateful slaves. I want medics ready to help them out---they’ll be weak, which means no selling them red sand from your personal stash, no grabbing anyone who grabs your fancy. This is as much a PR drop as an offensive, and neither your Lieutenant nor I will tolerate any misconduct by anyone under our command. Clear?”

An affirmative yell from the formation answered her question. The Captain smirked. “Excellent. A final reminder to my sisters in the ranks, this is an excellent opportunity to earn yourself induction into the sisterhood. Show me what you’re made of. Lieutenant, anything else?

Sisterhood? What was that about? But Andre could feel the laser gazes of the massed mercenaries focused on him, and he stepped forward, trying to hide the deep breath he took. “Captain’s already said it best. Just remember how long you’ve all been at this for; this is your chance to show the furhead what right looks like. Reckon you all want to take that, yeah?”

Scattered laughter from within the formation. Good.

Andre continued. “Anyone needs to take five for Athame, the Wheel, or God, do it now. Otherwise I’ll see you on the dropships. Operative, fall the men out, and prepare for drop.”

“Sir!”  Operative Bryn braced to attention, saluted, and pivoted about. “Platoon---fall out, prepare for drop!”

And with that the platoon broke up. Some gathered in small knots to double- and triple-check their arms and armor; a few asari gathered round to hold hands, biotics flaring as they murmured something in a language Andre didn’t even come close to understanding; here and there pairs of salarians exchanged gestures of some sort.

“That was a good speech, Lieutenant.”

Andre managed to keep himself from jumping, though he didn’t think he did a very good job of it. Captain Nalethia was _close_ , looming over him with that haughty smirk of hers playing about her face. “Thank you, Ma’am. Figured the last thing they needed was to hear me go on too long or taking myself too seriously.”

“Indeed.” The Captain reached out, and for a second Andre’s breath caught, assuming she was about to forcefully inspect him again---but instead she simply placed her hand on his shoulder. “This is your fight. The Chief and I will be along to monitor and take charge if things go rough, but you will be the first and foremost line of command.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Andre’s eyes flicked over to the Captain’s hand, back to her sharp features. There was a look in her eyes… “Ma’am, can I ask a question?”

The Captain idly brushed some nonexistent dust off of Andre’s shoulderplate. “Of course, Lieutenant.”

“You mentioned something about a sisterhood?”

The Captain’s poised expression briefly shifted, and something far more feral flashed over it, a faint hint of teeth flashed in her smile, a darkening of her eyes. Her grip tightened on his shoulder before her fingers went trailing down his gauntlet. “Oh, yes. But don’t you worry about that, Lieutenant. None of your concern.”

Footsteps heralded the return of Operative Bryn, and the Captain released her hold on Andre as the tightly-wound salarian made his return. His attitude towards Andre hadn’t softened noticeably in the ensuing couple of days since they’d met, but at the very least he wasn’t undermining his Lieutenant in front of the troops. “Sir. Ma’am. We’re boarding the dropships now.”

Captain Nalethia nodded. “To your stations then, gentlemen. I’ll see you dirtside.”

 

* * *

 

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Eclipse Other Ranks (enlisted and operatives) and roles: 

Private (PVT): Rifleman and fireteam member, executes orders and engages the enemy. All recruits without military experience are given this rank. Recruits who have previously served are contracted at their last held rank in a standing armed force.

Specialist (SPC): An experienced member of Eclipse, Privates are typically promoted to this rank following one year of successful service in a combat zone. Though still without command authority, Eclipse Specialists can elect to pursue training and serve in a specific technical field, such as being a combat engineer, heavy-weapons specialist, or a biotic vanguard.

Corporal (CPL): Fireteam leader, junior non-commissioned officer. Can be a biotic, combat engineer, or heavy-weapons specialist. Can be held by any species.

Sergeant (SGT): Squad leader, junior non-commissioned officer. Can be a biotic, combat engineer, or heavy-weapons specialist. Can be held by any species.

Vanguard Sergeant (VSG): Senior non-commissioned officer, typically serves as an NCO on the staff of a company on up. Roles held range from unit operations sergeant, paymaster, signals expert, and any other staff duties that an NCO might need to carry out. Can be held by any species.

Operative (OPV): Senior Eclipse member, serves as second-in-command of platoon or special missions unit and carries out any additional missions, tasks or duties assigned by commanding officer. Considered to outrank all enlisted soldiers, addressed as "Sir" by subordinates, "Op" in informal situations at the Operative's discretion.  _Held by Salarians only._

Senior Operative (SOV): Senior Eclipse member, serves as second-in-command of company or special missions unit, and carries out any additional missions, tasks or duties assigned by commanding officer. Addressed as "Sir" by subordinates, "Senior" or "Senior Op" in informal situations at the Senior Operative's discretion. Eligible Operatives can only receive promotion to Senior Operative after three years of successful service as an Operative or if having served in an equivalent role in the Salarian Union military.  _Held by salarians only._

Chief Operative (COV):  Senior Eclipse member, serves as second-in-command of company-sized or larger element (battalion on up), and carries out any additional missions, tasks or duties assigned by commanding officer. Has significant leeway and authority with which to accomplish mission. Addressed as "Sir"by subordinates, "Chief" in informal situations at the Chief Operative's discretion. Eligible Senior Operatives can only receive promotion to Chief Operative after an additional two years of successful service as a Senior Operative, or if having served in an equivalent role in the Salarian Union military.  _Held by salarians only_.


	3. Liberation

_Sobek, fifth moon Heqet, 2176_

Half the platoon were riding down in comfort aboard the ubiquitous spaceborne brick that was the UT-47 Kodiak dropship. The other half were riding hot in the two M-080 armored personnel carriers that lent Fourth Platoon its punch and mobility.

Andre Protin, seated in the latter, still couldn’t believe he envied the passengers of a damned Kodiak. The APC was shaking around him, bucking as its kinetic barriers absorbed incoming anti-air fire. The labor camp’s heavy cannons were too ponderous to track the small-moving craft, but there were plenty of machine gun emplacements ready to bring the hate. With luck the shields would hold until the craft hit dirt, but trusting to luck was hardly good standard operating procedure.

Operative Bryn, seated across from his commander, flashed two fingers: two minutes to touchdown. “Two minutes, LT!”

Andre huffed out a heavy breath, reaching over next to him to make sure his battle rifle was still secured when he left it. A final check of his tech armor and hardsuit, and he took one last breath to steady his voice as he hit the comms. “All Renegade Four elements, this is Four-Six. Two minutes to dirt. Remember, APCs lead the way and push deep as you can, infantry’ll follow up. Let’s make it happen, people. Four-Six out.”

There were barked acknowledgements over the comms from the four asari squad leaders, and from the front of the APC came a whoop from the driver. Andre just took another breath, slow as he could. He _hated_ drops, they reminded him far too much of the relief action during the Skyllian Blitz. Not that his people needed to know that.

Across from him, Bryn raised a finger. “One minute!”

Andre nodded. “One to dirt! Driver, get ready!”

Another cheer from the driver’s area, one last ragged breath, and then suddenly the APC bucked as its ventral thrusters flared, slowing its descent just enough for the impact to be unpleasant rather than fatal. New vibrations running through the hull told Andre that the turret gunner had already gotten to work---and an almighty crash that threw him against his restraints similarly told him they’d hit dirt.

“Driver, hit it!”

The engine roared to life and the APC surged forward. Peering out through the forward viewport and on his screens, Andre could see the objective, an ugly-looking collection of prefab buildings and mines that was the Na’hesit slavers’ operations on Heqet. Gunfire and rockets were already streaking for the Eclipse assault force, and off to their right the second APC took a hit, kinetic barriers flaring blue as they sustained the bulk of the missile’s impact.

“All vics, keep pushing.” That was Bryn, clearly just as concerned about those rockets as Andre. “Gunners, prioritize those rocket batteries.”

There were two shouts of acknowledgement over the comms and the fire hose of slugs surging forth from the APC turrets swivelled about to scythe across the towers that were the source of the rocket fire. First one wave of incoming rocket fire ended, then another, and finally the anti-armor fire ceased.

“Good work,” said Andre, reaching over to tug on his helmet and secure his rifle. “Op, get ready, almost time to dismount.”

The APCs continued to charge ahead. There was a small perimeter wall surrounding the facility, more to keep the slaves in than to stop anyone unwanted from entering. Against a pair of M-080 APCs going at full throttle, it might as well have been tissue paper, and the drivers hooked a pair of spectacular opposing J-turns, bringing their vehicles up in a line to act as cover for their occupants.

Andre was already grabbing his rifle even before the vehicle had halted, racing out of the APC to take up overwatch behind one of the tires and lay down cover fire as his soldiers spread out within the camp. Sheer overwhelming force was to be the order of the day, and under the watchful fire of the APC gunners his soldiers were heeding that. Bullets, bombs and biotics flew across the battlefield, and more than once Andre saw a blue halo surround an armored enemy and send them flying.

Biotics were one hell of a thing to have on their side.

Ordinarily Andre would’ve been more concerned about command and control, but just as with the defense of New Thebes the best he could do was lead by example: the bulk of his people had been at this for literal centuries, most of the rest the majority of their lives. Rather than wasting time with useless orders he settled for placing himself in the vanguard, leading the way into the labor camp and issuing commands only when necessary.

Diving for cover behind a convenient barricade, he found himself next to an armored and tech-armored salarian, lobbing incinerate blasts from his omnitool at the slaver positions. Operative Bryn, for once, seemed relaxed. “Ah, LT, glad you could make it. Second wave is incoming now, we just need to clear the courtyard.”

Andre quickly checked his HUD to see what it had flagged: three machine-gun nests in the towers still active, plus a squad of enemy on the ground. Not bad. “Op, get our heavies on those MG nests, if they’re still active when the dropships arrive they’ll shred the other squads.”

“Good thinking, you furheads can keep up after all.” Bryn’s speakers went silent, but over the platoon frequency in his helmet Andre could hear him continue. “Four-One and Four-Two heavy gunners, rally on me and the LT!”

It wasn’t long before a quartet of rocket launcher wielding mercs---including one that Andre’s HUD had tagged as one of the few humans under his command---came trotting over. Their ranking soldier, an asari Corporal with a surprisingly perky voice, gave the command duo a cheery wave as she skidded into cover next to Bryn and Andre. “LT, Op! Heard you needed some hurt?”

“MG nests,” said Andre, indicating the towers. “Sort ‘em.”

“Too easy, LT!” The rocket-gunner Corporal and her team were instantly on their feet, shifting over to spare their leadership the backblast from their weapons. One, two, three, four rockets went streaking forth, then a second salvo, and one explosion after another silenced the guns. Andre, peering through the scope of his battle rifle, looked over where to the remainder of the infantry were falling beneath a salvo of slugs and biotics from his soldiers.

It was almost as if they didn’t even need him, and something in Lieutenant Andre Protin wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that.

The tooth-rattling thrum of thrusters sounded overhead, and a pair of Kodiak dropships swooped by, pirouetting about on their thrusters to descend to a landing in the middle of the compound. Even before the dropships had touched down, however, the lead craft’s bay door was opening to let a figure leap forth, enveloped in a biotic field to slow their descent.

Captain Nalethia T’resh had already unslung her shotgun before she’d hit ground, calmly advancing over to where Andre and Bryn were in cover from the few remaining infantry outside. Heedless of the sporadic fire, she stood tall over the duo, helmeted head held high as she looked down at them. “Gentlemen. How are we looking?”

Andre glanced behind the Captain; the dropships were disgorging the rest of Fourth Platoon, squads filing out and breaking down into fireteams as they hustled over to the prefabs. The troopers from the initial assault, cheering their comrades, were moving to take up defensive positions in the towers and on the camp’s perimeter, just in case there were slaver patrols or outposts riding to relieve their beleaguered comrades.

“Ma’am, we’re doing good. No casualties, perimeter’s secured.”

“Excellent. Perhaps you can get on your feet, then.”

With a guilty start, Andre realized that the incoming fire had completely ceased. Fortunately, judging by his haste to scramble to his feet, Operative Bryn had had the exact same epiphany. The two were saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of another salarian, hardsuit shrouded in tech armor.

“Lieutenant. Captain. Breach teams are all in position.” Chief Operative Mynar Pek was the top NCO for 76 Company, and with a far more languid drawl and bearing than Bryn’s jerky mannerisms. “Shall we start the party?”

Captain Nalethia’s gaze turned to fix on Andre, and the Lieutenant nodded once before tapping at the side of his helmet. “Thank you Chief. All Renegade Four breach elements, this is Four-Six---move in.”

* * *

Andre had taken off his helmet as soon as he’d stepped into the atmosphere of the secured prefab. He was wishing he hadn’t.

The slaves were being kept in appalling conditions, packed in pens and cages like they were livestock. There were no latrines; the air was thick with the smell of excretions, blood and sweat, and the dead. It was mostly humans in the cages, but there were others too, a few salarians and Andre was just about positive he’d spotted a quarian corpse. Small wonder: their suit had likely been punctured in the crush of sapient life, and that would have been it for them. The Na’hesit weren’t exactly keen on good medical care for their possessions. Eclipse medics moved through the cages, triaging injuries and illnesses and handing out medigel to those who could be immediately treated.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

“Engineers have finished sweeping the camp,” said Chief Pek, tapping at a datapad. 76 Company’s Chief even blinked slowly, languorously scrolling through the report. If the smell was bothering Pek, he wasn’t showing it.  “No mass effect field generators anywhere to simulate standard gravity.”

Next to Andre, Operative Bryn’s eyes twitched from Pek to his Lieutenant to the slaves beyond. “How long have they been here?”

Andre blew out a breath. “Shit. If it’s anything longer than a few months, hell, a few weeks...”

“No exact numbers,” said the Chief, “but It’s been too long. Medics are reporting most of them have lost critical amounts of bone mass. If we move them anywhere with standard gravity, it’ll be bad.”

“Worse than bad.” Captain Nalethia’s voice sounded from behind the trio, posh tones acidic with rage. “They’ll be crippled for life.”

The others turned round, and Andre found himself having trouble looking away. The Captain’s sharply haughty features bore an expression of supreme disdain, and that did very interesting things to the intricate tattoos across her face. He still had no idea after all this time what those meant….

“Something on your mind, Lieutenant?”

Whoops. Andre coughed, hoping his face wasn’t red as it felt. “No Ma’am, sorry.”

The same feral look that he’d glimpsed aboard the _Penumbra_ flitted across the Captain’s face, lips tugging into a brief smirk before the usual icey hauteur was restored. “Chief Pek, contact the _Penumbra_ and tell them we’ll need a proper field hospital set up down here to treat the slaves....and bring public affairs down here while we’re at it, we won’t get better PR than this. Lieutenant, your platoon will hold fast here in the camp. We’ll land your other two Grizzlies, and you’ll scout the remainder of the moon to make sure it’s completely clear of the squints.”

“Yes Ma’am, sounds good.”

“Excellent. One last thing.” Captain Nalethia’s face darkened as she turned to the other salarian. “Operative Bryn, were you able to identify any candidates for induction?”

Bryn gave a choppy nod. “Yes Ma’am. Corporal T’veya and Private Vasir both distinguished themselves in the field.”

Andre frowned, looking from the Captain to his Operative and back again. He still had no idea what this ‘induction’ had been bought up was, and neither the Captain nor Bryn seemed particularly keen on talking. He recognized one of this names too; T’Veya was a heavy-weapons specialist, the rocket-gunner who’d helped take down the machine gun nest. “...Ma’am, am I going to be losing one of my heavies?”

Nalethia T’resh turned a maternal smile on Andre, and reached out to pat his cheek. At the sudden soft exhale from the Lieutenant, that smirk once more tugged at her lips. “Not at all, Lieutenant, she’s just distinguished herself in the field is all. Now, if that’s all you have for me I need to get back in orbit.”

“Y-yes Ma’am.” Now Andre knew he was _definitely_ red. “We’ll carry on down here.”

The Captain’s piercing gaze was once more hidden behind yellow lenses as she donned her helmet. “Good work, Lieutenant. Eclipse forever.”

“Eclipse forever, Ma’am.”

Andre waited until the Captain and her Chief were gone before rounding on Bryn. “Op, what’s up with these induc---”

But the leathery old salarian was shaking his head. “Don’t ask. Not something junior officers or furheads need to know about. _Especially_ not furheads.”

“...I see. Alright, have the medics keep going through our rescues and see what they can do till the docs show up. And set up a roster for patrols.” Andre raised a gauntlet to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “We’re nowhere close to being done.”  


* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Eclipse military doctrine: In the field, Eclipse doctrine bears the heritage of its two most populous species, the asari and the salarians. From its Republics commando heritage comes an emphasis on using minimal personnel necessary to accomplish the mission, and decentralization of authority to the lowest level possible, similar to the human concept of "mission command." Eclipse empowers its leaders down to the lowest Corporal to make whatever decisions are necessary to accomplish the mission, and commanders prefer to tell their subordinates what to accomplish rather than how to do so. In this line of thought, Eclipse will typically deploy company-sized elements for most operations, with battalions serving as more of an administrative rather than a line formation for all but the biggest of contracts. Because of this, Eclipse Captains have a far greater degree of autonomy and initiative than their counterparts in the Blue Suns, and even platoons find themselves operating on their own in support of the larger mission with relatively little oversight.

From the Union military, Eclipse inherits a love of intelligence and wet work, areas that are widely considered to be the province of its salarian population. An Eclipse Senior or Chief Operative doubles as the unit intelligence officer, collecting, analyzing, and disseminating intelligence out to all subordinate units to ensure that maximum preparation can be achieved before actually engaging the enemy. Eclipse special missions units, under the command of Operatives, will carry out direct action to neutralize enemy capabilities as much as possible prior to force-on-force engagements. This includes assassinations, sabotage, psychological warfare, and any other unconventional tasks deemed necessary to accomplish the overall mission.

As Eclipse grew in size and scope of operations, it became necessary to augment the force further, and this was where Eclipse's tradition of technical excellence was born. Every unit from the platoon on up will field a combat engineer force to ensure technical supremacy in electronic warfare and disrupt enemy capabilities. LOKI and YMIR mechs are assigned to the company level but are distributed to individual platoons as needed; while often derided as 'bullet magnets,' Eclipse commanders are fond of the additional firepower and combat support their mechs lend. Some platoons have even been known to give affectionate nicknames to their YMIR heavy mechs.

Humans, as newcomers to Eclipse and limited in ascension to only junior officer rank, have yet to make significant doctrinal contributions to Eclipse. However, the principles espoused by the asari and salarians have been enthusiastically embraced by human officers and NCOs.

 


	4. Retaliation

_Sobek, fifth moon Heqet, 2176_

The hills were alive with the sound of cannon as Andre Protin settled in for lunch. With the labor camp secured, the _Penumbra_ had confirmed that the atmosphere of Heqet was in fact breathable by most sapient species, and this had led to no small amount of cheer now that the customary forgoing of helmets by senior officers and NCOs could resume. And of course, there had also been widespread, albeit unspoken, nervousness that Fourth Platoon would be forced to take their meals inside where the slaves and batarians had lived.

Eclipse field rations were hardly the most appetizing things to begin with. Supplementing that with the odor of literal unwashed masses would not have been a fun time.

But fortunately that future had yet to pass, and now Andre found himself leaning back against the wall of a prefab, tearing open his ration packet, listening to the sound of APC cannons in the distance. The remainder of 76 Company was now on the ground, and Captain Nalethia was keeping her other platoons busy hunting down the remainder of the Na’hesit slaver presence on planet.

There was a clank of armor plate, and a leathery salarian sat down next to Andre to begin tearing at his ration packet. Operative Renakosh Bryn looked more than a little bemused at the contents before turning to face his platoon leader, expression scandalized. “What the _shrell_ is this, LT?”

Andre, halfway through prepping the heater for his main meal---something asari he could barely pronounce---looked over to his second. “What’s that, Op?”

Bryn was holding up a plastic packet, one emblazoned with the words ‘Cheese Spread with Bacon’ on the side. The Operative’s eyes were ablaze with anger, the distant cannon fire lending a wonderful air of bathos to his words. “This. What is this human crap doing in my Shryn Mish’ta?”

It took Andre a couple seconds to process the sheer ingratitude of Bryn in the face fo this gift from the field ratio gods. But once he did, he shrugged nonchalantly as he could. “Trade you for it.”

The salarian’s eyes narrowed. “What do you have.”

“Uhhh…” Andre dug round his ration packet; there were words here and there he recognized, like ‘bread,’ ‘cookie,’ and ‘spread’ but the rest was incomprehensible. Condiment for condiment sounded equitable enough, so he settled for holding up the spread with a shrug. Cannons, louder this time, once more thudded in the distance. “I got this thing?”

Bryn’s leathery hand was already darting out to snatch it away and deposit the cheese spread on the ground next to the LT, the Salarian cackling gleefully. “Lesson for you, LT. Never give up Serrice Shtoren spread.”

“And I gotta teach you about the wonder that is bacon cheese spread, Op.” Protin glanced off to the side at another crack of cannon fire, scratching at the side of his head. He wore his sides shaved with a shock of hair styled back on top, a popular look among Eclipse’s human officers, but right now that fashion meant he was itchy as all hell after long periods in his helmet. “Hey, does that cannon fire sound---”

“Yes.” Bryn’s eyes narrowed as he looked off to the hills beyond the camp. The salarian’s omnitool flared to life. “Renegade Four elements this is Four-Seven. Do we have anything on the wire?”

Static, then---

“Four-Seven, this is Four-One.” The cheery voice was that of Corporal Xeli T’veya, the rocket-gunner who’d been recommended as a candidate for that weird group the Captain kept bringing up. “Be advised we got incoming, I count two Grizzlies inbound from the North.”

Andre was already grabbing his rifle, slapping his tech armor online and shoving his MRE’s most critical bits into his webbing as he sprinted for the defenses. “This is Four-Six, all Renegade Four callsigns stand-to! Heavy gunners, push north side and get on the line, we got incoming armor, break---Chief how far out is the rest of 76?”

Bryn was at his side, snapping out salarian curses as they hustled for the barricades. “No clue, they haven’t been kind enough to keep us shrelling updated.”

“Alright, fine, might as well ask them ourselves.” The two had reached the barricades, both men tapping at omnitools to up the magnification on their tech armor’s HUDs. The sentries hadn’t been wrong: two old M29 Grizzly APCs, wheels churning up dust, were heading for the outpost.

Andre grimaced. He wasn’t entirely sure their heavies could stop them, and they wouldn’t be able to scramble the M-080s before the Grizzlies were in range. “Renegade Six, this is Four-Six, be advised we’ve got incoming at the main camp, two Grizzlies, unknown infantry complement aboard. Please acknowledge, over?”

Another crackle of static, and once more an asari voice came over the comms, the glass-cutting hauteur of Captain Nalethia T’resh. “Excellent. They’ve finally decided to show their hand. Four-Six, do not let any of them escape, and we are _not_ taking prisoners today. We’ll be there soon as we can. Confirm, over.”

Bryn glanced over at Andre, but the human could only just shrug. “Acknowledged, Six. Four-Six out, break. All Renegade Four heavies, make ready!”

There was a whoop from the rocket-gunner next to him, and Xeli T’veya clapped Operative Bryn on the shoulder. “Can’t live without us, can you Op?”

“Not many of us will be living _with_ you if you don’t stay sharp, Corporal,” snapped Bryn, still focused on the magnified image in his HUD. “Hold...hold…”

The Grizzlies were close now, damned close, and with a grimace Andre realized he didn’t need magnification to spy them properly. Any second now their top-mounted cannons would be---

A storm of slugs whizzed over the Eclipse positions, sending the defenders ducking. Andre in particular was unlucky, a salvo grazed his shields, knocking him to the ground and knocking out a good portion of his shield strength. Fortunately he wasn’t the only one on the deck, some of the grunts on their side of the perimeter had thrown themselves flat.

Fortunately, the heavies were still standing strong, and with an outstretched arm Operative Bryn snapped out an order. “Heavies let ‘em have it! FIre!”

One, two, three salvos of rockets surged forth, but the Grizzlies weren’t to be dispatched as easily as the slaver machine-gunners. Both vehicles’ kinetic barriers flared bright blue but they kept moving in, turrets still ablaze.

“Concentrate fire on their wheels,” barked Andre, resisting the urge to crack off shots from his Vindicator; against APCs it’d be worse than useless. “Try and score a mobility kill!”

“You got it, LT!” said T’veya, and another volley of rockets streaked forth.

But before they hit home, the Grizzlies opened up with their heavy cannons.

Andre didn’t even hear the 120s’ impact. The air around him suddenly seemed to grow hard as a rock as it slammed into him, the world simply spinning round before he found himself panting for breath, looking up at the sky. Everything was muted, like it was underwater, but he could still recognize the sounds: the chatter of assault rifles, the muffled whoosh of rockets firing off, the staccato snap of Operative Bryn giving orders.

Thank fuck for his tech armor; had Andre had not had it up he’d likely have cracked his skull from the impact. Slowly, he turned his head to look to his right. His Vindicator battle rifle, knocked from his grasp by the explosion, lay nearby.

Andre reached out to grab the stock, propping himself up on one arm, head turning to look towards where the barricade had been---

\---there was no barricade. There was a Grizzly APC, cannon blazing and troop bay opening to disgorge a swarm of figures in the black armor of the Na’hesit slavers. The batarian troopers hadn’t missed Andre either, bringing their rifles about.

The Lieutenant gritted his teeth. Last stand time, shame it wasn’t going to be anything properly heroic. He bought up his Vindicator just as the slavers opened fire, flicked the safety off, and braced for the shots.

He needn’t have bothered, because a biotic barrier flared to life in front of him to intercept the shots, and suddenly the world and its sounds sped back up to normal speed.

“What---”

“C’mon LT! On your feet, let’s go!”

It was Corporal T’veya, standing behind him, biotic halo aflare. Operative Bryn was moving up next to her, reaching down with one surprisingly strong spindly arm to yank Andre onto his feet. Things were still a little blurry, but Bryn already had an application of medigel ready to go.

Next to them, T’veya dropped her barrier as the command team beat feet rearwards, snapping up her ML-77 to let fly. There was a shout from behind Andre, the sound of bodies flying, and a laugh from the ever-cheerful Corporal.

“Op,” panted out Andre as they ran, “how’re we looking?”

“Mobility kill on the second vic,” said Bryn, yanking Andre into cover behind a pile of---thankfully empty---munitions shipping crates. “Got stupid lucky too, its cannon’s at a shit angle to engage us. Their troops will be coming in soon.”

Another body slid into cover with them, panting for breath---Corporal T’veya. “Check that, Op, we took out its turret.”

“Mob kill on the one that hit us too?” asked Andre. “It should’ve moved up way further than it did.”

T’veya’s helmeted head bobbed up and down. “That’s right, Sir.”

“Excellent work, Corporal.” Andre clapped her on the shoulderplate, standing up to trigger fire from his Vindicator at the oncoming Na’hesit troops beyond. Damned if he was going to exit this battle with a full load of ammo, but as Andre took in the scene he realized he needn’t have bothered.

The Na’hesit had two squads’ worth of troops incoming, used primarily to guarding slaves and beating those who couldn’t fight back; even with the casualties from the initial Grizzly assault they were still facing almost a full platoon’s worth of battle hardened Eclipse mercs. It wasn’t even a contest, and as the Na’hesit charged into the camp the massed fire of the dug-in mercs cut down their initial wave like pyjaks against a thresher maw.

Andre could feel his head start to swim. The world behind his scope began to sway again and the gunfire once more was under water. He could hear Corporal T’veya and Operative Bryn shout something that vaguely sounded concerned---and then suddenly his legs turned to jelly, and he was collapsing to the ground once more.

 

* * *

_Eclipse vessel_ Penumbra _, Heqet orbit_

When he came to, there was a decidedly exasperated-looking salarian looming over him, sweeping an omnitool over his head. Andre slowly realized that the alien wasn’t the only one: there was a blue-skinned woman, with fascinatingly intricate facial tattoos, upright bearing and a sleek figure, looking down with haughty, almost detached interest.

It took Andre all of two blinks to place _that_ before he sat bolt-upright in bed. “Captain Nalethia!”

With a faint huff of laughter, the Captain reached out to place two fingers on Andre’s shoulder, stepping closer and pushing him back down onto the bed. Andre sunk back, and the Captain stepped closer still, fingertips ghosting down his arm, briefly pausing to trace round the tattoo on his arm: two crossed M-8 rifles, surmounted by the company logo. Andre’s nostrils flared, a faint hiss escaped his mouth. Was this normal for asari treatment of subordinates? The Captain had...definitely been handsier with him than she had the other platoon leaders. Hell, more than she had anyone else under her command.

Nalethia T’resh raised her eyebrow in mute comment at Andre’s reactions before finally lifting her touch. “Lieutenant. Do take it easy, you narrowly escaped a concussion.”

“Ma’am, I---” Andre looked round, past the irritated salarian to his surroundings. “...medbay. Am I on the _Penumbra_? Ma’am what happened to my platoon?”

“Relax.” The Captain gave him a reassuring smile. “Your platoon suffered several serious wounded in action, including yourself. There were no deaths, and no enemy prisoners taken. 29 Company has relieved us on Heqet. It’s on to the next battle for us.”

“Yes Ma’am.” Andre glanced round to the salarian. “And how soon till I’m combat-effective?”

“Three days light duty,” came the immediate reply from the doctor. “I’m sure your Operative can handle everything in your absence, especially since you were kind enough to let him do so during the action.”

Even before Andre could rise to the bait, Captain Nalethia had once more laid a commanding hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently before turning to the salarian. “That will be all, doctor. Dismissed.”

The salarian shot the bedridden human a disdainful look, but departed all the same.

Now alone with the Lieutenant, Captain Nalethia turned round to take his chin in between two fingers as she turned his head back and forth, searching for….something. Just as she had when they first met. As Andre once more let out an involuntary breath, body jerking in response, a new look appeared on Nalethia T’resh’s face. It was almost like an apex predator having spotted a very appetizing meal in front of it.

“I think the Doctor’s estimation is a bit over-cautious,” she murmured, trailing her fingers down his jawline. “You look in fighting shape to me. But it wouldn’t do to work one of my officers to death, now would it, Lieutenant?”

Andre swallowed. His mouth was suddenly dry. “N-no, Ma’am.”

The Captain gave a low laugh. “No, indeed not. Especially not with all eyes on you...it’s a pity there’s not more of you humans in our ranks. Anyone who can give the turians a hiding like you did is worth having on your flank.”

“I don’t think the others agree, Ma’am,” Andre said, and immediately regretted doing so. This was his _Captain_ , who the hell was he to shit-talk his peers to her?

“Perhaps. But they don’t disagree as much as they used to.” Captain Nalethia patted Andre on the cheek and stood up. “I had Fourth Platoon secure this camp for a reason. Keep leading from the front, Lieutenant.”

Andre watched as she stood up, swallowing. “Yes Ma’am.”

Nalethia T’resh gave Andre a brief smile over her shoulder as she stalked out of the room, leaving behind a very, very confused Andre Protin.

 

* * *

**CODEX ENTRY**

Field Rations: For a government's armed force, creating field rations (colloquially known as MREs after the Systems Alliance's infamous Meal, Ready to Eat) is a simple task. Take whatever cuisine is popular and easy to make, prioritize preserving it for long periods of time above all other concerns---to include taste, appearance, and smell---and package it for use. However, more cosmopolitan armed forces such as mercenary forces, colonial militias, corporate security, and other such elements have the additional wrinkle of ensuring that their field rations are toxic to as few of their troops as possible. The typical solution to this is to field dextro- and levo-specific ration packs and place the onus on leaders in the field to ensure that the proper ration packs make it to the appropriate combatants. As most soldiers have little desire to die due to eating the wrong meal, this method is typically successful.

There is, however, another wrinkle. While some military values cross all species bounds, taste in food does not, and field rations are simply packed together based on whether they're dextro or levo. Competition among soldiers to draw meals from their own species is often accordingly fierce, but there has been some unexpected cross-cultural education. Certain asari condiments are considered to be worth their weight in platinum, and even human delicacies like jalapeno cheese spread or chocolates are sought-after commodities.


	5. Preparations

_ Eclipse ship  _ Penumbra _ , Heqet orbit, 2176 _

The briefing room smelled of various types of smokable drugs, red sand, field ration snacks, and sweat. For Andre Protin, it was about as close to  _ home  _ as anywhere about the Eclipse troop transport had smelled---give or take the various drugs it was about the same as any Alliance ready room he’d been in.

Heqet’s defenders had been relieved by the other company, under the command of another asari cut from the same posh cloth as Captain Nalethia. Andre, recuperating from his head injury aboard  _ Penumbra  _ hadn’t been there for the relief, but apparently the new arrival was one Melindra Vesh, just as upper-crust as their Captain, just as ferocious on the battlefield. Not that that was a bad thing, with the Na’hesit slavers looking to retake the offensive.

Next to Andre, Operative Bryn was sucking on something thin and metallic---a salarian tobacco equivalent no doubt---and looking more and more annoyed by the second. “We’re ten minutes overdue.”

Andre shrugged. “Chief could’ve had new intel for the boss.”

The Operative looked less than appeased at that. “If that’s the case, they should have rescheduled rather than---”

“TEN- _ SHUN _ !”

The room all snapped to at the words. Eclipse might have been less aggressively Disciplined-with-a-capital-D than their counterparts in the Suns, but they knew when to put on the spit and polish. Andre’s eyes flicked right to see an asari, face cross-hatched with scars, all but storm into the room. Vanguard Sergeant Leen Poyehna was 76 Company’s operations sergeant, one who’d been soldiering for Eclipse all her life rather than starting out in the Republics like some of the other asari. She took her position at the head of the room, flinty gaze sweeping the crowd, and then barked, “seats.”

The platoon leadership settled in once more, quietly murmuring among themselves. Andre wasn’t among them. He knew who would be the next in.

He wasn’t wrong: Captain Nalethia T’resh, wearing tight-fitting commando leathers and a look of icy detachment, swept up to the podium at the front. In her wake was Chief Pek, quietly tapping at something on his omnitool. Behind the Captain, the briefing room’s display screen resolved itself into an unfamiliar logo, that of a soaring bird native to Khar’shan surmounted by crossed daggers. Beneath the insignia were the letters ‘APLA.’

“Oh shrell,” groaned Bryn. “They’ve gotten all  _ motivated _ .”

“Quite right, Operative,” said Captain Nalethia, expression still carved from stone. “Our adversary has organized. Meet our new friends, the Anhur People’s Liberation Army. Yes, Lieutenant Rid?”

Andre looked over---the figure being addressed was the Salarian commanding First Platoon, a man just as tightly-wound as Bryn but rumored to be ex-STG besides. 

“Ma’am, does this mean that the Na’hesit are no longer our primary sociopolitical concern for this contract?”

Captain Nalethia shook her head. “Negative. The Na’hesit and their desire to continue slavery on Anhur remain the reason the Anhur government has us here. This is just a new form---yes, Lieutenant Protin?”

All eyes turned to Andre, and he squirmed a bit in his seat, distinctively uncomfortable of the scrutiny. He hadn’t much had a chance to mix with his fellow platoon leaders prior to the Anhur deployment, and the other two asari and one salarian officers hadn’t really felt the need to rectify that yet. “Ah---Ma’am does this reorg mean that they’ve recruited additional fighters of their own? Ones who wouldn’t feel comfortable fighting under a batarian slaver group’s aegis?”

“Quite.” The Captain’s lips twitched. “But we’re getting to that. Chief?”

Chief Operative Mynar Pek stepped forward, slowly blinking as he surveyed the audience. A quick tap on the salarian’s omnitool, and the logo on the screen resolved itself into troop strengths, armaments, and other military minutiae. “To answer the question I’m sure everyone is wondering: no, the Blue Suns and Blood Pack have not been hired on for this by the APLA or Na’hesit proper. This remains purely an internal Anhur affair. The APLA consists, as of now, of Na’hesit personnel, as well as Anhur military defectors, local corporate interests who would prefer the slavers keep their way, and slave soldiers. The corporate interests are the galactic equivalent of----Lieutenant, what is the phrase? Mother and father store?”

Andre sighed. “Mom and Pop shop, Chief.”

“How delightfully quaint. But, yes, that. Which is to say we don’t have to worry about bleeding dry the coffers of Binary Helix or some such. They  _ do  _ have a significant aerospace force, but we’ll let the Fleet worry about the vacuum for now.” Pek paused, looking among the platoon leaders and their operatives. “Questions so far?”

There were none. Not that Andre was surprised. The being who asked a question once things had gotten rolling now, unless it was a  _ very _ good question, was all too easily tagged as an asshole. Last thing he needed was to be the furhead with 20 questions, and he’d already risked that with his previous comment. Clearly the other platoon leadership felt much the same about their respective races.

“Very well. Vanguard Sergeant?”

Leen Poyehna stepped forward, briefly reaching up to scratch at the scars splashed across her face. “Latest intel reports the APLA’s been moving to regroup and prepare to counter any moves like we made on Heqet. They’ve already dug in around their other labor camps on Sobek’s moons, this would have to be an op by the whole battalion to seize these areas, and command is not as of yet willing to commit the forces necessary for  _ that  _ offensive.”

“We need more troops is why,” murmured Andre to Bryn. “One battalion isn’t enough to liberate a whole system.”

Judging by his choppy nod, the Operative definitely agreed.

So, it seemed, did the Vanguard Sergeant. “As of now, higher has reached out directly to Lady Sederis requesting reinforcements. In the meantime we need to keep the APLA off-balance. Captain Vesh’s company will continue to hold Heqet, but  _ we  _ have a new target. Chief?”

Pek tapped at his omnitool a couple more times, and the screen behind Poyehna resolved itself into a wing of space stations around Anhur. The company ops sergeant continued, a note of grim satisfaction present in her voice. “These stations were overrun by the Na’hesit early on in the rebellion, and their entire workforce has been taken hostage. The stations are additionally transshipment points for the natural resources mined from the moons and bought to Anhur via automated transport.”

Andre bit back a curse. The VIs running the transports wouldn’t know any better than to stop their shipments, and the APLA was no doubt doing their best to sell off the proceeds from those transports. Judging by his sudden stiffness---even by his standards---Operative Bryn had noticed the same thing.

“The good news is each station is lightly defended by the standards of this operation,” continued Poyehna. “Each platoon will sweep, clear, and hold the stations within their area of responsibility. Once all resistance has been cleared, we’ll reintegrate the Anhur government’s processing of the shipments for  _ their  _ benefits. Ma’am?”

Captain Nalethia stepped forward. “Platoon leadership will receive their assigned stations and all intelligence on the enemy complement within no later than two hours from now. Operations plans will be submitted to Vanguard Sergeant Poyehna and Chief Pek no later than three hours from receipt the initial target. The company has chosen us to be its spearhead, people, and I’ve good information that Lady Sederis herself is keeping track of our progress. Don’t disappoint me, and you shan’t have to worry about disappointing her. That is all. Dismissed.”

* * *

“Helmets,” said Operative Bryn.

Andre Protin, seated in the  _ Penumbra _ ’s bar, looked away from the datapad and Hackett Hellstorm cocktail he’d been pondering. “Pardon?”

Bryn, glass of Mannovai Malt clutched in his hand, gave a sigh that spoke eloquently to his tolerance of humanity’s sluggish synapses compared to his own kind. “Helmets. We need to be ready for vacuum, it’ll be too easy for them to depressurize the station.”

Andre looked back down to the schematics of the target station, then to the barely-touched cocktail, and took a sip of the latter. “D’you reckon? These guys are guerillas,  _ they  _ might not have vac-capable gear for everyone.”

“Maybe,” sneered the Operative, motioning for Andre to hand over the datapad. “But if you were a superior four-eyed being and holding onto your station came down to venting vacuum and losing some two-eyed chattel, wouldn’t you do it?”

Andre winced. He still wasn’t sure if Bryn knew he’d been in the Skyllian Blitz, but one way or another it had left him with a very healthy respect for the batarian ability to sink to new depths. Depressurizing a station even if their comrades didn’t have full hardsuits or vac gear would be nothing in comparison to what had happened there.

“Alright,” said Andre, taking another healthy swig of his Hellstorm. “Helmets. Anything else, Op?”

“Break by squads,” muttered Bryn, almost to himself. “Or in halves...one team moves to seize engineering, the other the command center…”

The salarian trailed off, the occasional audible snippet of muttered tactical commentary emerging. Andre patiently waited for him to finish. When Bryn got in states like this, it was best to let him ride it out. Eventually, the Operative looked away from the plans and turned back to his platoon leader. But Bryn remained silent, as if waiting for Andre to puzzle out what he’d been getting at.

Fortunately, Andre was smart enough to keep up.

“I’ll take First and Second. Hit the command center, lock that down.” Andre pounded back a good slug of his Hellstorm, mirrored by Bryn with his Mannovai Malt. “You take Third and Fourth, head for engineering. Make sure they don’t vent anything or set anything off. Once we have those critical areas secured, we each leave a squad to keep the key areas secure, lead the other two in a sweep-and-clear, make sure no APLA---”

“---I shrelling hate that they have a  _ name  _ now,” grumbled Bryn.

“Would you rather they were still going by their slaver name?”

“ _ Yes _ . Every damned guerilla group in history has to come up with some overblown shrelling name to make it sound like they’re fighting for the rights of the people or whatever, but they’re no better than anyone else.” Bryn pounded some more Mannovai Malt, waving his now-empty glass for emphasis. “And this group are  _ literal slavers  _ LT.”

Andre shrugged, concealing his own bemusement at the subject. “Fortunately we’re getting paid to kill ‘em, Op. Anyways. We take our other two squads, clear the remainder of the station, radio to higher once we’re done. How’s that sound?”

Bryn looked forlornly into his glass, but decided to forgo ordering a second round from the VI drone tending bar. “No arguments here. Let’s just make sure we get this right. Especially with Lady Sederis watching.”

At the mention of Eclipse’s founder, Andre lowered his cocktail. “You reckon the Captain wasn’t wrong about that?”

“No,” said Bryn simply. “When certain things strike Jona Sederis’ fancy, it’s hard to get her to care about anything else. And making sure Anhur goes off without a hitch is  _ very _ much in her best interests. We’re on her radar for sure, don’t you think otherwise LT.”

Jona Sederis had a reputation within the ranks, one you didn’t want to get to know firsthand. The rare few asari like the Captain who’d soldiered with her in the Republics had talked of an extremely capable combat commander, one who looked after her people and asked of them no privation she wouldn’t be willing to undergo. But those who’d been alongside her in Eclipse had whispered in hushed tones of a nigh-on megalomaniac, a woman whose goals were paramount and whose demeanor of posh respectability was only a marketing ploy, a way to garner more contracts and more prestige for her creation.

Andre wasn’t sure which one was right. He didn’t much want to find out. “Alright, Op. Either way, we gotta get this operation order drawn up and sent to the Captain, so unless you wanted to spook me with anything else…”

Bryn gave a dry laugh as he produced his datapad and got ready to type. “No. Standing by to copy.

 

* * *

**CODEX ENTRY**

The Anhur People’s Liberation Army:  Drawing on centuries of guerilla tradition, the Anhur People’s Liberation Army, or APLA, was created not long into the Anhur Rebellions. The Na’hesit slavers, realizing that they would never be able to sway the tide of public opinion or convince external backers that they were worthy of support, decided to recast their fight as a perverse struggle for freedom. Claiming that their cultural rights were being infringed upon by the abolitionists within the Anhur government, the APLA’s manifesto declared their fight was for “all species, regardless of race, religion or eye count” to practice their lives as they saw fit in the Amun system.

This pronouncement was met with much jeering by the Anhur militias, to say nothing of the battle-weary Eclipse mercenaries contracted to oppose the guerillas, but the APLA---or at least its component fighters---soon proved themselves a legitimate threat in several early engagements. Anhur’s capital of New Thebes was overrun by the slavers, sending the government into exile elsewhere on-planet, and its space arm successfully engaged Eclipse’s fleet on multiple occasions.

On the ground, however, the APLA ran into trouble opposing the battle-hardened mercenaries of Eclipse. With the bulk of their fighting power coming from batarians used more to guarding servile slaves than engaging in proper combat, the APLA had several rather unpleasant lessons to learn in the course of their initial engagements.

Manpower-wise, the APLA’s fighting strength is primarily batarian slavers, supplemented by mostly human slave soldiers, some of which are also used for unconventional tasks such as intelligence gathering, infiltration, and assassination. Unfortunately, the Na’hesit branded each slave prior to the outbreak of war, making it very easy for Eclipse and Anhur government forces to identify potential infiltrators. In space, the APLA maintains a robust fleet, whose experience defending Na’hesit transports from pirates or would-be liberators has made them far more of a threat than their ground-bound counterparts.

The APLA’s funding comes mostly from previous sales of slaves and resale of natural resources captured from the government and its mines. Most outside investors, not wanting the potential bad optics of backing a batarian faction, have rebuffed APLA overtures.


	6. High Stakes

_ Eclipse ship  _ Penumbra _ , Neith orbit _

Andre had been a bit surprised at the choice of rendezvous, but in hindsight it made a good deal of sense. The Na’hesit---APLA or whatever  _ name du jour  _ they were calling themselves---would hardly expect Eclipse to have rallied its reinforcements at the sight of one its worst defeats in the Rebellions. 

The Na’hesit fleet had ambushed the Eclipse rally point in Neith orbit a few months in, and the slaver sailors had proven far more competent than their ground-pounding counterparts. Drifting debris from the action was visible outside  _ Penumbra _ ’s viewports, and here and there Andre could pick out the unmistakable shape of a flash-frozen body, sailing through the void.

But there was something else moving in Neith orbit besides  _ Penumbra _ and the ghosts of battles past. A massive cruiser, emblazoned in yellow and black, hove its way through the starship graveyard to come up alongside the  _ Penumbra _ , dwarfing the far smaller craft. As Andre continued to watch through the viewport, the stars were blacked out behind the Eclipse colors of the massive ship.

It was somehow fitting...but right now he had an honor guard to put together. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied the omnipresent tension of Operative Renakosh Bryn, grinding his teeth as he looked out into the void.

For once, Andre could sympathize with his second’s high-strung nature. He knew who was aboard that ship. “Op?”

Bryn tore his gaze away from the other vessel. “LT?”

“Fall the platoon in. And inform the Captain that Lady Sederis has arrived.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the entirety of 76 Company, armor and weapons polished to a shine, were standing in two rows in the  _ Penumbra _ ’s shuttle bay. In the middle were the leadership---Captain Nalethia, Chief Pek, and Vanguard Sergeant Poyehna. And behind  _ them _ were Andre and his fellow platoon leaders, helmets held under one arm and quietly murmuring to each other.

“Has anyone here actually  _ met _ Lady Sederis before?” muttered Andre to the officer on his left, Lieutenant Rid of First Platoon.

The allegedly-ex-STG salarian shrugged. “Nope.”

“I have,” came a whisper from an asari to Andre’s front. He took a second to place her: Lieutenant Enyala, Second Platoon’s leader. Another Eclipse lifer, with the accompanying hard edge to it. 76 Company wasn’t the biggest formation in the galaxy, and stories about their leadership spread fast among the platoons. Some got laughs, like about the time Andre had almost puked after trying what was apparently the most highly sought-after Asari field ration. Some were tinged with awe, like how Lieutenant Rid had allegedly taken down five slavers with a single well-placed incinerate blast.

And some, like the stories of Lieutenant Enyala, just were met with grim silence.

The Lieutenant continued, almost savoring the effect her words were having on Andre. “Keep yourself locked up. Always call her ‘Lady Sederis’ or ‘Ma’am,’ and don’t do anything that would suggest disrespect. Goes double for  _ you _ , furhead.”

Andre bristled, clenching a fist at his side. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“You’re cannon fodder,” Enyala said airily. “Shouldn’t even be talking to her into the first place. Didn’t you know that’s why she opened recruiting to humans? Just wanted disposable cannon fodder and so many of you ex-Alliance types were  _ raring  _ to be Terminus Systems badasses, well, why not give you a chance to do it…I know the furheads in my platoon certainly try their best...”

“That will do, Lieutenant.” Captain Nalethia’s voice was quiet, but all parties shut up upon hearing it. “She’s here.”

A Mantis gunship was swooping into the shuttle bay, pirouetting about on its axis to open its troop hold. Behind Captain Nalethia, Chief Pek snapped to.

“Company!”

And from their positions off to the side of their formations, the Operatives all snapped, “Platoon!”

“Ten- _ SHUN _ !”

Yellow armor clanked and faces were schooled to blankness as the gunship settled down on its skids. There was silence as the gunship sat there for a few moments---and then the sounds of heels clicking on the deckplates emerged.

Andre suppressed a gulp.

An asari in an admirably-tailored dress of the sort favored by Thessian high society emerged, flanked by a pair of her fellows, both wearing Eclipse armor and carrying heavy shotguns. Captain Nalethia immediately stepped forward, braced to attention once more, and dipped her head in a bow.

“Lady Sederis. Welcome aboard the  _ Penumbra _ , it is our pleasure to have you with us.”

“Captain Nalethia. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” Jona Sederis’ voice had all of Captain Nalethia’s hauteur, but there was a distinct undercurrent of menace the Captain lacked. There were no visible weapons on the CEO of Eclipse, but that hardly meant she was unarmed. Andre had no doubt that the woman was deadly with her biotics alone. “Have you been hunting well?”

“We certainly have. We’d no idea our hunts were of such...importance to the company, though.” That hesitation in the Captain’s voice spoke volumes, and Andre winced. If that was taken the wrong way…

It wasn’t. Sederis smirked, the expression of someone dealing with the concerns of someone or something infinitely beneath them. “Oh, I tried not to make a big deal of it, but you must understand a high-profile government contract such as Anhur can certainly have a dramatic impact on our fortunes, no?”

Nalethia’s expression remained schooled to blankness. “Yes, of course. If you’ll follow me this way, Chief Operative Pek and I can fill you in on our operations thus far.”

The four platoon leaders immediately stepped apart to form a channel for the august visitor to pass through...but as Sederis swept by in Nalethia’s wake, the Eclipse founder briefly paused, stormclouds flashing over her face as she scrutinized Andre. For a second the Lieutenant could feel sweat break out on his forehead, but the brief threat of...something...was quickly gone.

When Vanguard Sergeant Poyehna roared for the company to fall out, Andre beat a hasty retreat for the officer’s lounge.

* * *

He hadn’t been the only one. 76 Company’s four platoon leaders found themselves clustered round a booth in the corner, chatting amongst themselves. Andre found the array of beverages to go with species fascinating. He’d forgone his usual Hackett Hellstorm in favor of a simple whiskey on the rocks. Rid, true to salarian form, had a glass of Mannovai Malt. Enyala was pounding shots of some fluorescent purple asari drink.

That left the final Lieutenant of the quartet---Wasea, a purple-skinned asari with red facial tattoos sipping on something dark brown and bitter-smelling. Andre had never worked with Second Platoon’s leader other than admin work and bullshitting during downtime, but she hadn’t had the same aggressive stories shared as Enyala, and her intense demeanor hadn’t come with an asari superiority complex either.

Yet.

“Alright,” said Andre, running fingers through slicked-back hair. “Place your bets. What kind of special mission is going to be coming down the pipeline?”

Rid slammed back his malt, an eerily similar gesture to Operative Bryn’s drinking mannerisms. Andre wondered if they were hatched from the same egg. “Nothing special. But the Anhur government has a lot riding on us seizing these stations.”

“They had a lot riding on us seizing the labor camps too.” Wasea was looking into her drink. “Hell of a lot, but I’ll bet you anything the money involved in this bit’s what’s got Lady Sederis’ attention.”

Enyala, lounging back in the booth with one arm spread out across the headrest, let out a snort and pounded the remainder of her purple drink, waving to the LOKI mech tending abr for another. “Maybe there’s more slaves on this station and they want more PR shots. You remember that furhead coming down to Heqet and taking all those holos, it’ll look even better aboard a space station. At least humans are good for shooting something.”

Andre shot her a look. Enyala gave him a shit-eating grin. The Lieutenant briefly opened his mouth---and then he thought better of it and took an irritated sip of his whiskey. This was why he liked the operational autonomy afforded Eclipse platoon leaders: if your fellows were assholes, you rarely had to deal with them. But with a big company-wide push on the table, there had to be more cooperation.

And besides, there was one other reason he couldn’t call Enyala on her not-too-egregious instances of bullshit. She was a member of the Sisterhood. What that meant, Andre  _ still _ had no idea, but no one in Eclipse spoke like that of an organization unless it had legitimately earned its rep. Even if it still frustrated him to no end he had no idea  _ what _ the damn group was.

Lieutenant Wasea, drink empty, idly flared a biotic field to life and spun her glass round in the air in front of her. “Rid might be onto something.”

“What makes you say that?” Andre swirled round his ice cubes, wincing. He’d finished too fast, and drink prices aboard  _ Penumbra  _ were nothing less than usurious.

“We got a whole battalion in-system.” Wasea kept spinning her glass. “Could easily bring all their leadership aboard Lady Sederis’ flagship. Even if the mission isn’t special, she’s using us as her spearhead. She knows she can rely on us.”

Rid appeared to be pondering that, eyes narrowed with thought. “Makes sense. And we don’t have any special missions units in-system anyway. Company’s too cumbersome to use for that.”

“Speak for yourself,” Enyala said, and then frowned. “Actually, wait, seriously, you were STG weren’t you?”

“Wasn’t the Captain a commando?” parried Rid. “Just because certain leadership figures have certain training doesn’t mean that the entire unit is capable of that kind of mission.”

“He ain’t wrong,” said Andre. “I sure as shit wasn’t N-series.”

“That barely counts as special forces anyway,” said Enyala with a dismissive wave.

Wasea’s glass clattered down onto the table, and the purple-hued asari blew out a bored breath and shook her head. “Pay’s still coming and we’ll still be smoking blinks, that’s enough for me. The orders will come down one way or another. Why waste so much energy thinking it over?”

Andre leaned back, rattling his ice cubes in his glass as he looked up at the dim-lit ceiling. No, that wasn’t wrong. But the waiting, the dealing with company politics of shipboard life rather than being on the line, that was starting to get to him. “Not a bad way of looking at it, we---”

“Eyes up,” murmured Rid.

A towering figure loomed in the entry to the lounge, one that resolved itself into the towering Chief Mynar Pek. The salarian moved more like flowing water than kinetic energy held in check by tension, and he languidly made his way over to the officers’ booth. The two asari regarded him warily. Operatives of all grades were a unique caste within Eclipse, and while technically not a part of the clientele catered to here, no one was about to tell one of the veteran salarian soldiers that they weren’t welcome.

“Lady Sederis and Captain Nalethia give their regards,” said Chief Pek, bracing to attention in front of the table and dipping his head. Hardly necessary given his career in Eclipse versus the four Lieutenants, but that was protocol for you. “And their apologies, but the timeline is being accelerated. We’ll be hitting the stations tomorrow.”

* * *

**CODEX ENTRY**

Jona Sederis: The founder of one of the "Big Three" private military companies did not come from humble beginnings, but nor too did she seem destined to be one of the top dogs of war outside of C-Space. Jona Sederis was born to asari nobility on Armali, with a mother who was an executive with the Armali Council and a father who was a turian veteran of the Krogan Rebellions, and from the start her parents groomed her for a career in the Republics commandos. Young Jona soon earned her spurs in multiple engagements with mercenaries, pirates, and other forces in defense of asari space, but soon revealed herself as someone her fellow huntresses considered a little too eager for action. Sederis' bloodlust only increased as she aged, and by the time Captain Sederis had hit the Matron stage of life she had amassed a reputation as a ruthless commander...but not one with ambitions outside her home systems.

That path changed when Captain Sederis suffered the first and only defeat of her military career, at the hands of the Blue Suns mercenary force. The details of the mission remain classified, but some theories have gained traction in the mercenary underground. Rumor has it while the asari's superior skill, training and biotics had often carried the day in previous engagements, the sheer numbers and discipline of the Blue Suns soldiers facing Captain Sederis' cadre were enough to wipe out the unit to nearly the last man. Following recuperative leave, Sederis resigned her commission and disappeared into the Skyllian Verge, telling her colleagues only that she wanted to see the Blue Suns "eclipsed from the galactic stage." When she resurfaced on that stage, the former Captain was now calling herself 'Lady' Jona Sederis and presenting her new PMC as a smarter, more upscale alternative to the brutish Blue Suns.

Since then Eclipse has carved out a niche as the intellectual's choice among the so-called "Big Three." Jona Sederis is far more likely to be found at upscale galas and professional conferences than her rivals Solem del'Serah or Ganar Wrang, but those who arouse the ire of Eclipse's leader are quick to be reminded of the bloodthirsty commando lurking beneath the elegant facade.


	7. First Strike

_Ore-processing station 1, Anhur orbit, 2177_

At a distance, it could be mistaken for a meteor shower, a series of small objects streaking across the Anhur sky, silhouetted against the sun and drawing little attention otherwise. Up close however, the formation resolved itself into something of considerably more interest---dropships, four of them, each one hurtling towards the four ring-shaped ore processing space stations hovering in Anhur orbit.

Andre Protin, strapped tight into his craft’s acceleration couch, was mentally thanking goodness his helmet muffled his heavy breathing. They were on an inertia course, minimal electronics systems active. Between that and the relatively small visual profile of the craft, the hope was that the APLA sensors wouldn’t pick them up until it was too late for the slavers.

But that meant a longer-than-usual approach for the mercs, sitting in near-total darkness aboard the craft, relying on a trickle of life-support power and armor nitroxy tanks to keep them alive. For Andre, _that_ meant long, long minutes of sitting and waiting, with nothing for company but the ragged rasp of his breathing filling his helmet.

Even their armor electronics were on minimal power. Comms with _Penumbra_ , lurking far far out of range of the stations’ sensors, were only to be used in emergency situations. Lady Sederis’ flagship, the massive _Corona_ , was lurking at the edge of the system.

76 Company was on their own. Four little ships, hurtling into battle.

Blue energy suddenly swirled round Andre’s head, turning it to the right to look into the lenses of an identical visor. Fortunately his surprised gasp was muffled by the helmet, but judging by how she’d tilted her head, Captain Nalethia knew _exactly_ what kind of an effect she was having on him.

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?”

Andre hadn’t asked how the Captain had picked his platoon as the one to ride shotgun with, but he had his suspicions. “I--I’m alright, Ma’am.”

It was impressive how the Captain could project an expression of infinite patience from behind the yellow lenses of an Eclipse helmet. “Lieutenant, I can hear your breathing from even behind your helmet. Didn’t the Alliance put you through drop training? Zero-Grav?”

“They did, and I got trained, but---” Andre paused for a second, blew out a breath. “...sorry. Doesn’t mean I liked it, Ma’am.”

Captain Nalethia chuckled and gently patted Andre’s shoulder. “Just stay close to me, Captain, we’ll have you in gravity of some sort soon enough. Operative, how far out are we?”

Bryn, sitting across from the officers in what looked almost like a meditative state, jerked his head up at the Captain’s words. “Thrusters go hot in three, Ma’am. Land in five.”

“Any sign the stations are onto us?” asked Andre.

“Nothing, and no chat from the Chief or the Vanguard Sergeant to indicate otherwise on their ends either.” Bryn rolled his neck; there was some audible cracking. “LT, with your permission?”

Andre nodded.

Bryn’s voice was suddenly crackling over the platoon frequency. “Right you lot, wake up! Armor online! Check your kit, check your buddies’ kit! We are now...four minutes out!”

Around the dropship omnitools and rifle scopes flared to life, helmets and control panels tapped, ammo mods slotted home. Andre was among them, double- and triple-checking that his armor’s life-support tanks were full and functioning properly, before grabbing his Vindicator from where it was slotted next to him.

“Burn in ten!” snapped Bryn. “Stay strapped in!”

There were no windows in the troop bay. There was no way to see the stations looming large in the distance, no way to see if the sudden multitude of electrical signatures had drawn any unwelcome attention. Andre drew another deep breath, muttering something to himself that was almost but not quite a prayer.

And then suddenly the darkness of the dropship’s troop bay was awash with light, new energy forcing First Platoon back in their acceleration couches as the dropship’s engines flared to life. Comms were up and online too, and the welcome voice of the pilot was soon crackling over the comms:

“Looks like they haven’t spotted us yet, Ma’am, or they haven’t reacted yet. Two minutes out!”

Next to Andre, Captain Nalethia was slamming an ammo block into her shotgun with all the delicacy of a debutante sipping tea. “Excellent. All Renegade leadership, this is Renegade Six. Comms check, how do you read me, over.”

Lieutenant Rid’s staccato tones soon replied. “One-Six receiving, over.

“This is Two-Six, reading you loud and clear, Ma’am.” Wasea’s voice was all restrained ferocity, the veneer of professional polish holding her bloodlust in check.

“Three-Six here.” Enyala wasn’t even bothering to hide the anticipation in her voice, just as eager for a fight as Wasea but clearly uncaring of delicacies. “Ready and waiting to slot some blinks.”

Andre shook his head and suppressed a snort. It was slightly ridiculous to do this while seated next to the Captain, but she’d asked. “This is Four-Six, check.”

Nalethia’s helmeted head bobbed in a nod. “Excellent. You all know your mission, and what is at stake. Remember---Lady Sederis is watching. Good hunting, people.”

The company freq went dead, and the Captain turned to Andre. “Well, Lieutenant?”

Andre shrugged, racking the charging lever of his Vindicator. “Just going to be happy to get off this boat, Ma’am.”

“One minute!” came the call from the pilot.

Nalethia chuckled and patted Andre on the shoulder. “Careful what you wish for Lieutenant.”

Andre privately doubted the veracity of that; better to be on the ground in a fight he could somewhat control rather than sitting strapped into a hurtling brick in the void, utterly at the mercy of the pilot’s skills.

“Thirty seconds!”

Operative Bryn, across the bay, undid his crash restraints. “Stand-to! On your feet!”

“Ten seconds!” came the call from the pilot.

Andre hauled himself to his feet, gripping his Vindicator with white knuckles as he moved to the number two spot by the door. There was the sound of mass effect fields kicking in, a strange sense of inertia as the dropship hovered to a halt---and a new sound too, the pellet plink of small-arms fire hitting KBs.

Another deep breath. This was it.

“Down and clear, go go go!”

The dropship door opened.

First Squad’s vanguard was first into the breach charging and letting fly with a biotic blast that sent one, two, three slaver bodies flying out the magcon field into the void beyond. Andre was out immediately after, Vindicator up and blazing away to suppress the enemy. The slavers hadn’t expected a biotic to be leading the charge and the remainder of the APLA fighters were hastily scrambling for cover,

That was the opening they needed. Andre skidded into cover behind a key shipping crate and keyed his comm before resuming suppression fire. “Heavies up! Sarn’t T’Veya, smoke ‘em!”

Xeli T’Veya, even perkier with her newfound Sergeant’s stripes, gave Andre a quick acknowledgement over the comm and hustled into position along with her fellow rocket-gunners. An ML-77 salvo later and the APLA bodies were flying once more.

Operative Bryn was already hustling forward, Third and Fourth Squads forming up and falling in behind him. “Alright you lot, shrelling shift it before they space us all. See you in the command center, LT!”

“Roger that, Op. First and Second, on me, push for the command center!”

It was slow going. The APLA troopers were dug in in every nook and cranny they could find in the space station’s tight corridors, and in these tight confines T’Veya and her rocket-gunners would do more harm than good. Meter by meter Andre pushed the advance, desperately scrabbling for every piece of cover they could advance behind, but the defenders had the advantage. The assault stalled out at a cross-corridor behind which a hasty barricade had been erected. Dug in behind their prepared cover, the APLA had clear fields of fire, and Andre and his mercs were soon scattering for whatever cover they could find. It wasn’t just batarians opposing them either---there had to be Anhur militia dissidents in the APLA ranks here, the incoming fire was too disciplined, too accurate.

It wouldn’t be long before they took casualties---unless---

Andre keyed his comm. “Renegade 1 and 2 vanguards, come to the front! Hit ‘em with everything you got!”

Four troopers moved forward, pulsing with biotic halos---and then a fifth figure joined in to let fly a combined biotic blast that bowled over the APLA defenders like ninepins. Captain Nalethia let out a whoop of triumph and surged forward with a biotic charge to sort out the remaining defenders with her shotgun.

Or at least most of them, because right after the Captain’s charge, one of the vanguards was dropped with a bullet to the brain.

Andre cursed, swivelled his rifle about and spotted a fireteam of four APLA troopers bounding down the corridor, spraying gunfire from their SMGs. A quick crack of his Vindicator put paid to one but the other two dove into cover.

Damn close quarters, they were in deep enough to the station that spacing themselves wasn’t a concern, and the enemy was far enough away they needn’t worry about splash damage. “Sarn’t T’Veya, contact nine o’clock, engage at will!”

“You got it LT!” came the chirp, and the whoosh of the rockets followed up soon after.

One explosion, two, and the gunfire ceased. Captain Nalethia was already powering up for another charge, laughing as the biotic power surged round her body. “Come along, Lieutenant, no time to waste.”

More corridors, more strongpoints, but Andre had his vanguards on point now and the slavers were not even close to prepared for biotics. In point of fact, they weren’t prepared at all, and it wasn’t long before the enemy simply started running rather than attempting to stand and fight. Captain Nalethia and the vanguards simply charged them down, efficiently finishing them off with shotgun blasts to the back of the head. It was more execution than warfare, and Andre couldn’t help but feel a brief pang of pity for the APLA.

It wasn’t long before they were coming up on an imposing-looking barricade, blast doors behind it. Those APLA who’d been able to escape were diving into cover behind the barricade, laying down a withering hail of fire. There were even a pair of LMGs anchoring the slaver flanks, and with the single-corridor approach to attack head-on would have been suicide. Crouching down behind a bulkhead, Andre waved across the way to where T’Veya was standing in cover behind a stanchion.

“Sarn’t!”

“Sorry LT!” T’Veya was swapping thermal clips on her Tempest SMG, chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. If she was bothered by the near-constant stream of gunfire whizzing past, she didn’t seem to show it. “We’re black on rockets!”

Shit. The enemy MGs were talking, one gun firing in a burst and then the other, ensuring that there was a nigh-constant stream of fire incoming rather than both guns going dry at the same time. Plus all the other small arms. He could send in his vanguards but that would be certain death for the biotic troopers---

\---or at least, that’s what Andre thought. Captain Nalethia was getting to her feet, aglow once more, and let fly with an almighty surge of biotic power. The Lieutenant’s jaw dropped as the blue blast slammed into the barricade, sending the gunners sprawling. Nalethia and the other vanguards were charging forward in a flash of light, shotguns barking as they executed the defenders.

No sense wasting time. Andre broke cover, waving his people forward. “Stack on the door people, prepare to breach!”

Second Squad immediately formed a cordon, covering all corridors leading to the bridge, while First Squad stacked on the door. Two spindly salarian engineers hustled to the front, slapping demo charges on the seam where the doors joined. Andre briefly watched them, then keyed his comm.

“Renegade Four-Seven, this is Four-Six. Sitrep, over.”

There was a brief crackle of static, then Bryn’s voice came snapping back. “Engineering secure. The bridge?”

Andre looked over his shoulder. One of the engineers raised a thumbs-up; it was really quite impressive how well that human gesture had spread. “We’re breaching now.”

“Good luck, LT. Four-Seven out.”

“Roger that.” Andre looked round at his soldiers, swapping his thermal clips. “Everyone set? KBs charged?”

Sergeant T’Veya, stacked on the door opposite Captain Nalethia, gave a thumbs-up. “Set, LT!”

Andre nodded. “Alright, let’s do it.”

One of the engineers tapped at his omnitool. The charges sparked, and for a second Andre thought that they’d misfired, but then the det-cord sliced round the circumference of the door. The massive blast doors fell inwards with an almighty crash, and an answering hail of gunfire soon responded from within. Sergeant T’Veya and another soldier pitched in a pair of fragmentation grenades, and the gunfire was rapidly drowned out by screaming.

Captain Nalethia was first into the breach, biotics aglow and shotgun ablaze, followed in short order by the other surviving vanguards. Andre led the mere mortals in support, triggering controlled bursts from his Vindicator at anything moving within---but the movement soon ceased, and then all that was left was for the smoke to clear.

Andre tried to keep his breathing under control. It wasn’t easy. “Squad leaders---squad leaders, get me a consolidation report, we all up?”

“First Squad’s all up,” came the immediate response from T’Veya.

“Same for Second,” said the other Sergeant, a salarian.

It was really, really tempting to just slump against a console, but Andre know he didn’t have that luxury right now. “Lock down the bridge, engineers get access to whatever systems we can. Four-Seven, Four-Six. Bridge secure, over.”

“Myself and Third Squad are making our way over to you now,” came Bryn’s voice. “Be advised we’re not seeing any signs of hostiles. Station looks secure.”

“Four-Seven, this is Renegade Six.” It was Captain Nalethia, tugging off her helmet to run fingers over her scalp, smiling crookedly as she stepped in close to Andre to clap him on the shoulder. “Bridge sensors confirm, station secure. Job well done, everyone.”

Andre tugged off his helmet, running a hand through the shock of sweat-slicked hair sitting atop his scalp. The station’s air was cool but almost stale, in the way that most recycled air systems were aboard spacecraft. Still, it was a damned sight better than being trapped in his sweaty helmet.

“Sarn’t T’Veya, send two people back to that cross-corridor. Grab our casualties, we need to see to it they’re properly taken care of.” Andre furrowed his brow, and with a guilty start realized he didn’t even remember _which_ of his vanguards had been killed. Sergeant T’Veya either didn’t notice or wasn’t going to call him on it, though, and thank goodness for that.

He felt a presence next to him, and when he glanced over, Captain Nalethia was looking at him curiously.

“Ma’am? What’s up?”

The Captain reached up to run a hand through Andre’s hair, expression intent. Just before she released him her fingers curled round and _tugged_ , eliciting a gasp from the Lieutenant, though Nalethia’s face remained calm as ever. “Always more wrinkles with you humans in the field. Does that not get in the away under a helmet, Lieutenant? It didn't seem to impact your performance.”

Face burning, Andre managed to stammer out a reply. “N-not really, Ma’am. I just, ah, just keep it well-groomed and done back and I’m fine.”

Nalethia tilted her head. “Interesting. A fringe of sorts, then?”

“Ma’am, shouldn’t we---?”

“Yes, of course.” The Captain gave a faint laugh. “Stand by, Lieutenant. Lady Sederis will be sending in our reinforcements soon, and then it’s back to _Penumbra_ for kaffe, cakes and ego-stroking.”

“I could do with kaffe,” put in Sergeant T’Veya, seated in front of a console and polishing her helmet with one gauntlet. “Ego-stroking even more so.”

“Then get your shrelling backside out of that chair and make sure we all live to see it.” Bryn had returned, accompanied by two troopers out of Third. “LT, engineering’s locked down. ETA till our relief gets here?”

Andre looked to Nalethia. “Ma’am?”

“Just sent the go to Lady Sederis,” said the Captain. “Just sit tight and enjoy the pause, gentlemen. Won’t be long before we’re dirtside again.”

 

* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Space Station Boarding: Few military actions are more fraught with peril than boarding actions. The initial wave is all but guaranteed to sustain extensive casualties, weaponry selection is severely limited in order to avoid jeopardizing hull integrity of the target craft, and survival of the boarding party rests in either swift capture of their objectives or of holding the entry airlock at all costs to guarantee an exit. Accordingly, most spaceborne infantry forces such as the Alliance Marines, the asari commandos, and the entire plethora of non-government or small-government armed forces have developed their own unique doctrine to ensure success when carrying out so risky an operation.

Fortunately, targeting a space station significantly improves the chances of the assaulters. Larger and more durable structures mean that weapons selection, while still needing to be carefully considered, is much less restricted. Multiple points of entry that are not chokepoints, typically docking bays, make it easier for the first wave to disembark and secure a foothold without sustaining significant casualties. The primary concern for the initial assault is typically avoiding sensor contact or defensive emplacements from the station as long as possible. Eclipse accomplishes this by launching dropships from a base ship a significant distance out from the target station, and sending them in on an inertia-powered approach after an initial thruster burn. Internal electronics systems save for criticalities like life support are similarly kept power down. By removing thruster signature and electronic readings, this forces the station to rely on visual identification or lucky sensor pings to tag an approaching craft. However, should a dropship be pinged, they are often easy prey for station point-defense systems.


	8. R-and-R

_Eclipse flagship_ Corona, _Anhur orbit, 2177_

“So whatever happened with that whole moon-hopping campaign to liberate the slave camps, anyway? Seemed like we forgot about it after we got relieved on Heqet.”

The other card players turned to regard Andre, expressions in turns amused, bemused, and confused. They were in the officer’s club of _Corona_ , Jona Sederis’ massive flagship. Andre had thought he’d misheard when Lieutenant Wasea had invited him along to join the other platoon leaders, but no, it was indeed a proper club like one would find on Illium or Omega rather than the more restrained lounge aboard _Penumbra_ . Andre had had no idea why a combat vessel would _have_ such a thing, but nor was he about to complain. It was a nice respite before the long-awaited commencement of the campaign on Anhur itself.

Wasea had gone off to dance with Lieutenant Rid, and Andre had bought in at a nearby table where an asari card game as boisterous as the music was in progress. A couple of the card players were out of 76 Company---Lieutenant Enyala and Captain Nalethia, both cleaning out the other players with ferocious relish---but there were also several members of _Corona_ ’s contingent present. There was even another human, an olive-skinned gunship pilot with brunette hair tied back in a ponytail, bright eyes, and a sunburst tattoo splashed across her neck. She’d given a tight smile of fraternity to Andre but otherwise hadn’t said a word since he’d settled down.

Captain Nalethia, seated across from Andre, let out a tolerant sigh. Despite her...matronly attitude towards her fourth platoon leader, there were times when she could occasionally slip into the less-pleasant variety of Superior Asari Mode. “The mission set changed, Andre, as did the overall strategy. Focus on your mission, big-picture concerns will be relayed when appropriate.”

“And focus a little harder,” put in Enyala, sliding a dismayingly large pile of chips into the center of the table. “I asked Xela T’Veya about your kill count last mission. Not exactly what I’d call impressive. I raise.”

Andre scowled, both at his cards and Enyala’s remark. He still had yet to get the hang of the asari card game, to include remembering what it was even called, but he’d learned enough to almost not lose with annoying regularity. He slid in his chips. “I was always told an officer’s job is to maneuver his people rather than dropping the enemy. The platoon is your primary weapon, not your rifle.”

“Fuuuuuuck that.” Enyala snorted. “If furhead training means I can’t pulp someone with my biotics your training isn’t worth that much, is it?”

The gunship pilot on Andre’s right bristled, but settled for sliding in her own chips. Andre briefly looked over, but the pilot shook her head briefly. Not the time to make a fuss over speciesm.

Captain Nalethia considered her cards, then slid them into the center of the table with a rueful sigh. “Perhaps, but it definitely gives the Lieutenant a certain...focus, does it not? He may be concerned with the big picture off the line, but he’s able to keep his attention on the mission and ignore...distractions.”

Andre frowned---and then blinked, eyes widening. Something was making its way along the inseam of his trousers. His eyes flicked over to the Captain, and that predator’s smirk was tugging at Nalethia’s sharp features. Ignoring the twisting feeling he felt in his gut---and whatever it was making its way up his leg, Andre looked back at the table. “I--I certainly try, ma’am.”

“Nalethia, please.” The Captain waved a hand. “We’re off the line in here, no decor. Isn’t that right, everyone?”

Nods and murmurs of agreement all around. In such an informal setting as this, by mutual agreement among those who entered the club on _Corona_ , distinctions such as rank and billet were forgotten at the door. Honorifics were verboten, customs and courtesy anathema. As any good combat soldier would be, Andre was OK with the tradition, but something about addressing the Captain as an equal just didn’t sit right with him.

Unlike whatever had been caressing him---but the touch on his leg dissipated as Captain Nalethia raised her hand from where it had been hidden below the table. Andre blew out a breath, feeling his cheeks flush as he glanced over to the other players. The remaining two---a salarian bridge crewer and an asari artillery officer---had both folded with some grumbling.

“Just me and the furheads now.” Enyala had a truly nasty smile on her face as she leaned forward and shoved across more chips. “You two feeling lucky? I raise.”

Andre groaned inwardly, but he couldn’t back out now. He slid over his chips, leaving a decidedly inferior pile in front of him versus Enyala’s remaining mountain.

Next to him, the gunship pilot leaned forward, ponytail swaying like a snake, and gave Enyala a piercing stare before speaking the first words Andre had heard come out of her mouth. Her accent was almost musical, though not one Andre could place easily.“You ever played chicken with a pilot before, grunt?”

Enyala snorted, reaching over to pound a shot of her favored purple liquor. “I’ve sat around waiting to see how long your pampered asses will take to get my close air support, if that’s what you mean.”

The pilot snickered. “Uhhhh huh. Then if that’s the case you know that we’re patient. And we _never_ break off.”

There was something playing round Enyala’s face that Andre did not like the look of, the asari officer’s teeth gritting and eyes narrowing as she stared down the gunship pilot. A blue corona briefly appeared and then dissipated as Enyala leaned forward. “That’s the thing about you furheads. What’s a long time for you’s a blink of an eye for us.”

“Maybe,” answered the pilot, giving Enyala an equally nasty grin as she slid some more chips into the center. “But we can last where it counts. I call.”

Andre suppressed a groan. He’d have to go all in order to keep up, and he was already a bit dismayed by how many credits he’d sunk into the pot...but on the other hand, nor could he let his fellow human be the only one standing up for their kind.

There was also the fact that Nalethia T’Resh was watching him with a hooded gaze, something entirely more pleasant than Enyala’s rage threatening to break past her reserves. The Captain made eye contact with Andre, nodded once.

“I call,” said Andre, and slid his creds in.

Enyala clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, I _love_ when you furheads get ballsy. Alright, I check.”

“You do, huh?” The gunship pilot’s nasty smile grew even wider as she slid the remainder of her chips in. “I raise. All in.”

The salarian crewer let out a gasp, and the asari gunner whistled appreciatively. But Captain Nalethia leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin meditatively as she regarded the scene at the table, lips faintly pursed.

Andre briefly scrutinized his fellow human, but the pilot’s sharp features were inscrutable beyond her malicious glee. Enyala’s smile had vanished, the asari glaring at the two humans.

“No way in hell your cards are that good,” snarled the asari.

“What,” said Andre, barely conscious of the words coming out of his mouth, “you gonna surrender to a couple of _humans_?”

An inarticulate growl rumbled forth from his fellow Lieutenant, and Enyala slid the remainder of her chips in, throwing her cards on the table. “Huntresses at High Tide.”

Claps of approval from the artillery officer and naval crewer. Captain Nalethia remained impassive, looking to Andre and the gunship pilot.

The human woman had frozen, smile vanishing.

“What?” sneered Enyala, “don’t tell me the furheads can’t put their money where their mouths are. Go on, show.”

Fist clenched with rage, the gunship pilot threw down her cards---and Enyala crowed.

“Oh, Matriarchal Wisdom---close! So close! Alright, Protin, let’s see how close _you_ came.”

Andre looked at his cards, utterly failed to parse the meaning, and threw them down with a sigh. “I don’t even know the fuck these cards mean. How close was it?”

Silence reigned round the table. Across from Andre, Enyala’s jaw dropped, his fellow Lieutenant radiating sheer raw fury. Clearly he’d won, but...how?

Captain Nalethia came to his rescue. “The Justicar’s Peace, Andre. The one hand that beats all others, no matter what. I do believe the pot is yours.”

He didn’t have time to muster an appropriate quip, because a biotic blast sent him flying immediately after. Fortunately Andre was wearing his armor so going crashing into the wall didn’t hurt quite as much as it could’ve, but seeing Enyala follow up with a biotic swipe to the table to send his hard-earned chips flying was like a stab to his chest. Andre propped himself up at one arm, jabbing an accusing finger at his fellow platoon leader even as the other occupants of the table scattered.

He might’ve had more to drink than he realized. “Don’t---don’t be a sore loser Enyala.”

“Sore loser?” Enyala sounded more incredulous than enraged, though the latter was plastered all over her face. Then a biotic corona flared to life and the asari charged over to Andre. All of a sudden he felt hands like a vice grip round his neck, lifting him against the wall as a voice snarled in his ear. “You cheating furhead, you ain’t seen _nothing_ yet.”

Andre growled and brought up an elbow---and then bought it down on Enyala’s arm. The asari hadn’t been expecting him to fight back, and her grip loosened just enough for Andre to break free of that one arm, right in time for Enyala’s fist to come crashing into his face. He did his best to roll with the punch but still wound up going to the ground once. With a will he tried to scissor his legs about, hoping to trip up Enyala---

\---to no avail, but he had support. The other human, the gunship pilot whose name he’d never gotten, came rocketing into Enyala from behind. The asari turned away from Andre, whirling to deliver a one-two punch to the gunship pilot’s midsection, sending the other woman staggering. The pilot let out an angry sound, half-grunt, half-shout, and once more stormed back in. Enyala, laughing almost lustily, bought back up her arms and prepared to wade in. Andre was still on the ground, but he could still help, he couldn’t let his fellow human take this alone---

\---but before he could intervene, a massive biotic explosion blossomed in the middle of Enyala and the pilot, sending both officers flying. Behind them stood Nalethia T’Resh, arms raised and an expression of utter aggravation plastered across his face. “ _Enough._ ”

Enyala and the pilot, halfway on their feet and already circling round for another scrap, froze where they were. The club’s dull bass continued to thud in Andre’s ears, the dancers nearby utterly undaunted by the ongoing drama; even Wasea hadn’t abandoned the dance floor to aid her fellow asari. Andre drew himself up to one knee, trying to not to think about the blood streaming down his face.

The asari Lieutenant whirled round, amped up enough on anger and adrenaline that she looked like she was actually considering firing back at her Captain. Then Nalethia raised a fist encased in biotic flame and Enyala subsided, seething.

“Are we on report, Ma’am?” asked Andre from where he kneeled, panting for breath.

Nalethia tilted her head the way she did when Andre used a weird human idiom, but ignored him. “I won’t have officers fighting each other when we’re about to commence a campaign in earnest. Any issues you have with humans in our ranks end _here_ , Lieutenant Enyala, am I clear?”

A corona blossomed over Enyala’s muscular frame, but it was soon suppressed. Deliberately avoiding eye contact with Andre and the gunship pilot, she nodded stiffly and spun around to storm out of the club.

That just left Nalethia and the two humans, a biotic glow still sheathing her hand. A touch, so light as to be more imagined than truly felt, passed over Andre’s jaw, wiping the blood off his split lip. The Captain’s lips briefly tugged up into a smile, and then Nalethia pivoted round to stalk her way over to the bar.

Andre watched as the Captain left, mind whirling. He hadn’t been put on report for brawling with another officer---though granted Eclipse was likely more lax there than the Alliance---but this was just the latest time she’d been this oddly affectionate with him. And then there had been those touches under the table, the caresses he had been unsure if he was imagining or not…

Then a very real touch was yanking him to his feet, and Andre refocused to see the gunship pilot in front of him, a smile like a knife wound splitting her face. “Not a bad show down there, but I don’t think your reflexes are going to get you airborne just yet.”

“No argument here, I’ve always hated flying,” said Andre, and winced before spitting out some blood. “Ow. Uh. I’m Andre Protin, appreciate the save.”

The pilot grinned and gripped his forearm plate tighter for a quick second. “Nice to meet you. Next time I have to bail you out, hopefully I’ll be packing some proper firepower next time. See you dirtside, groundpounder.”

Before Andre could ask what her name was, the pilot was vanishing into the crush of people in the crowd, lost among a sea of yellow armor and casual wear. With a shake of his head, Andre turned round to head back out of the club. He needed to talk shop with his Operative, and hopefully Bryn hadn’t hit the Mannovai Malt too hard just yet.

And if he had, maybe he could share with Andre. That’d be fun too.

 

* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Eclipse - Standards and Discipline: It is considered a truism among the mercenary world that the best private military companies, freelance formations, or individuals are indistinguishable from any serving unit or soldier in a standing army like that of the Hierarchy, Systems Alliance or Salarian Union. While to some extent this is true, the success of the so-called Big Three casts no small amount of aspersions on that conventional wisdom.

While the Blood Pack eschews any military trappings, and the Blue Suns (outwardly) attempt to conduct themselves as the epitome of professional soldiers, Eclipse falls somewhere in the middle. Ranks, drill and ceremony, uniform and equipment standards are all codified in company doctrine and expected to be enforced under the watchful eye of unit Operatives and NCOs. However, the asari-inspired doctrine of decentralized leadership means that company commanders have a distinct autonomy in choosing what they choose to emphasize enforcing among their ranks, and few prefer spit and polish in favor of combat effectiveness.

This has led to distinct differences in the character of different units. Line infantry and other combat-arms units often have a battlefield cohesion and equipment that is the envy of smaller mercenary formations--- "being the best while using the best" as some of the junior enlisted have put it. However, drill and ceremony beyond the basics necessary for unit briefings and the occasional visit of a superior officer is reserved for more specialized units. These formations, like the black-armored estate security detachments on Bekenstein, are often derided as "toy soldiers" by their frontline counterparts, but their polish is rarely enforced at the expense of combat prowess.

One area where Eclipse widely diverges from common wisdom of mercenary discipline is when its soldiers are off-duty. Recreational drug use, fights between soldiers of similar rank, gambling, and other such indiscretions are relatively commonplace. Some unit commanders in active war zones will tamp down on this behavior to ensure it does not reach a point where it impacts combat effectiveness, but they know better than to attempt to halt such activities entirely.


	9. Fire Power

_Camp Umbra, Anhur, 2177_

 

The outpost had been built by Eclipse, erected and established by its ever-efficient engineers, and the company’s logo was splashed across prefab walls, munitions crates, arms rooms and armored figures. But despite the omnipresent sunburst, Camp Umbra had rapidly assumed a more cosmopolitan nature, as the ragged remnants of the Anhur militias in the area had rallied to their outside professionals to regroup and refit.

They were barely recognizable as an armed force, clad in whatever hardsuits or light armor and carrying whatever weapons they had available. But Andre recognized the look of grim determination and the dogged discipline with which they carried themselves---he’d seen it on his comrades after the loss of New Thebes. The militias had signed on to defend their home, not some world who’d contracted them out, and Andre had no doubt they’d fight just as ferociously as any Eclipse commando to take it back from the slavers.

Nor were the militias on their own---an impromptu firing range had been established off to one side of the base, near the burn pits and latrines, and three humans were instructing some of the greener-looking militia in the art of basic marksmanship. Andre, trudging back to the prefab he shared with the rest of 76 Company’s leadership, took a second to scrutinize them. They were all wearing immaculately-maintained black hardsuits with absolutely no identifying markings or insignia, and had the upright posture of lifelong soldiers.

Andre frowned, scratching at the side of his head. He hadn’t shaved in a bit, and the stubble was starting to grow back in again, which meant he was _itching_. At least down here he could wear his tech armor for head protection rather than his bucket. Perks of being an officer. But these mystery figures were still baffling---clearly too professional to be local militia officers, but definitely not Eclipse.

The leader, a black-skinned woman with a dagger-like figure and intense features, saw him looking and gave an almost-friendly smile, waving him over. Briefly weighing the pros and cons of engaging with these mystery trainers, Andre decided curiosity outweighed discretion and ambled over.

“How’s it going?” asked the woman.

“Not bad,” said Andre, scratching at his head again as he looked over to the firing line. There’d been some noticeable improvement in the marksmanship, impressively enough. “Looks like you got your work cut out for you, though.”

The other snorted. “It’s better than you might think, at least these guys want to learn. When they think they’re hot shit from the start that’s when things get _really_ ugly.”

“Sounds about right. I’m Andre, by the way.” He proffered a hand to the other woman.

“Emilia,” said the woman, shaking it with a bone-crushing grip. “Been with Eclipse long?”

“Couple years. I was with the Alliance beforehand, got out after the blitz.” Andre withdrew his hand, gingerly flexing sore fingers and hoping it wasn’t too obvious. “You?”

“Me too,” said Emilia, an easy smile settling on her features. “Took me a bit to get used to being in real gravity, but I’ve been freelancing round for a while now. It’s fun. See new worlds, meet new people, train ‘em how to kill each other.”

Now it was Andre’s turn to snort. “Nice. Been with this team long?”

Emilia looked over to the other two figures in identical black armor, and something briefly froze on her features before continuing. “Hm? Oh, no. I don’t work with anyone without military experience, though, so I know these guys are up to snuff.”

“You sure?” Andre couldn’t help but snicker. “I knew some real bright sparks when I was in…”

“You were in the wrong place, then,” replied Emilia, demeanor shifting into one of barely restrained intensity.

“You sure?” repeated Andre. “I was infantry after all…”

The other woman’s carefully neutral smile twitched into a smirk. “Yeah. You could do better. Good luck out there, Andre.”

It was clearly a dismissal of some sort, but Andre wasn’t entirely sure what. Touching two fingers to his temple in a not-quite salute, he turned round to head back through the camp, listening with half an ear to Emilia resuming her instruction of the militiamen.

The other platoon leaders were in the spartan prefab when Andre got back. Wasea spared Andre a wave hello, looking up from the asari knife game she was playing with Enyala. The other asari settled for an upraised digit. Lieutenant Rid, propped up against the wall on his cot with a datapad and a bottle of Mannovai Malt, didn’t look up.

Andre sighed and settled down on his cot, digging round in his kit for his datapad or a drink. Either would be acceptable. “You guys see those freelancers out there?”

“Yes, we’ve seen the militias, furhead.” Enyala wasn’t even bothering to hide her hostility now. “We’ve got eyes.”

Wasea gave her sister officer a patient look. “You mean the black-armored team?”

“Yeah.” Andre made an irritated noise; either he’d forgotten to bring the fifth of whiskey he’d bought with an arm and a leg from _Corona_ ’s club, or one of his fellow platoon leaders had stolen it. “They look pretty sharp, especially for freelancers.”

“That’s because they’re _not_ ,” said Rid, not looking up from his datapad.

All eyes turned to look to the salarian, and Wasea’s knife _thunk_ ed into the ground in between her and Enyala. “Go on, enlighten us with your STG wisdom.”

Rid gave the expected, rote response. “I was---”

“---never STG,” chorused the other platoon leaders.

“We know,” said Andre.

“Just answer the fuckin’ question,” said Enyala.

“In more than three words,” added Wasea.

The salarian Lieutenant gave a tolerant sigh. “Uniform paint jobs but complete lack of any identifying insignia, training-slash-advisory mission, and I’m sure if you talked to any of them they gave a convincing but conveniently vague discussion of their background and careers. _Have_ any of you talked to them?”

Andre blinked. Rid was spot-on as ever, and that was...really really concerning. Because if this crew wasn’t freelancers, who were they? And why would the Alliance (unless the turians or whoever were subcontracting) send in clandestine operatives to Anhur?

“If that’s the case,” said Wasea, frowning, “what does that mean for us?”

“Not a Wheel-damned thing,” said Rid, still nose-deep in his datapad. “They do their jobs, we do ours, and hopefully the militia becomes a bit more useful and a bit less cannon fodder.”

Grunts of assent at that. Wasea and Enyala went back to their knife game and Andre pulled up his own reading material on the datapad. Asari poetry---or at least the kind he’d found---was surprisingly more enjoyable and far less florid than he’d imagined. So lost was he in the retelling of a daring commando mission, he almost didn’t notice the dull thuds in the distance.

“Hey, guys---”

“It’s outgoing,” said Rid, still not looking up. _Corona_ had indeed deployed a few guns out of the artillery battery she mounted down to the surface, and the little rump battery had been very much enjoying themselves bombarding the slaver stronghold that New Thebes had become. Even in modern war, indirect-fire artillery had its place.

But that had sounded too distant to be the outpost’s batteries. Andre tilted his head, frowning as he peered up into the middle distance, or at least the prefab’s ceiling. There were more crashes in the distance. “You sure?”

Rid finally looked up from his datapad, leathery features crinkling---and then suddenly explosions sounded within the camp.

“Definitely not outgoing!” snapped Wasea, grabbing her shotgun and scrambling to her feet.

Andre was already rolling out of bed to scoop up his Vindicator and slap his tech armor and OT comm online. “Four-Seven, we’ve got incoming, get the platoon on the line!”

The voice that crackled back was not Bryn’s.

“Op’s down, LT!” came the response from Sergeant Xeli T’Veya. “We’re standing to!”

Shit. The other Lieutenants had heard, and Andre got a brief clap on the shoulder from Wasea as she joined Rid and Enyala hurtling out of the prefab. A deep breath and Andre was following them.

The camp outside was in chaos, smoke and fire curling up into the sky, accompanied by the screams of the wounded and dying. The vast majority of casualties had been the militia’s troopers, but there had been enough Eclipse standing watch and tending to their duties to have been hit as well. No time to think about that, though---Andre was racing for the camp’s eastern defenses, where Fourth was supposed to have set up in case of a contact.

He found Sergeant T’Veya, for once not so chipper, barking out orders to the platoon’s other squad leaders like a batarian slavemaster. If the other NCOs had issues at the juniormost Sergeant among them taking charge, they weren’t showing it. Andre vaulted over a moveable steel wall and came skidding to a halt next to T’Veya.

“Talk to me.”

T’Veya shook her head, expression grim. “Could be worse but could definitely be better. Op’s being taken back to the aid station but he’s the only one from our team who got hit, he was near the batteries---arty was targetting them.”

Made sense. Andre bit back a curse as Anhur militia began to hustle into their own positions on the defensive lines. Without the old salarian things were going to be tricky---T’veya was sharp, she’d not have been meritoriously promoted if not, but he didn’t have the extensive experience working hand-in-glove with her like he did Bryn. “Alright. Make sure the heavies are ready, if we’re gonna have incoming---”

“Contact front!” came the bawled shout from one of the Anhur troopers. “Grizzlies! They got Grizzlies!”

Andre bit back another curse. “Yell at me being a jinx later, Sarn’t. Get our heavies up.”

“You got it,” said T’veya, and whirled round to roar out orders to Fourth Platoons heavies as Andre got on the comms.

“Break, break, break, all stations this is Renegade Four-Six. Be advised Four-Seven is down and we have incoming Grizzlies, east side.”

“Renegade Six here.” Captain Nalethia was on the north side with Rid and First Platoon, and even she didn’t sound particularly happen. “Not a good day for any of us. Renegade Seven is dead and we have heavy casualties out of Renegade Two and Three’s elements. Four-Six, be prepared to detach elements to serve as QRF, acknowledge.”

Andre briefly was speechless---Vanguard Sergeant Poyehna was dead? The woman had survived God knew how many contracts with Eclipse and the entirety of the Anhur campaign to be schwacked by artillery. Unbelievable. “Acknowledged, Six.”

A new voice crackled over, almost unfamiliar for the rage roiling within it, but it seemed that this nightmare was enough to shatter Chief Operative Mynar Pek’s laid-back calm. “This is Renegade Five to all elements. Hold the line. Don’t let a single one of the pyjaks live. Out.”

The comm went dead and Andre turned to T’veya, who gave him a thumbs-up. “Rockets ready, LT. They’ll be in range in two.”

“Good. Standby.” Andre unsling his Vindicator, flicking the scope online as he peered down at the onrushing enemy. The images beyond resolved themselves into two Grizzlies. More than enough to tie down the defenders, not enough to take the base. “...Six, this is Four-Six, count two vics incoming. Looks like a harassing attack, they’re gonna try and whittle us down, how copy?”

“One-Six here,” came Rid’s grim tones, “One vic incoming our side. Concur with Four-Six.”

Wasea’s contralto growled over the comms next. “Two-Six, three vics incoming our position. We’ll splatter ‘em.”

“Three-Six, no...no contact our side.” Enyala, however, sounded infuriated that her platoon was about to avoid combat.

“Renegade Six here, acknowledged on all. Do not, repeat do not head outside our lines, but do not let them cross either.” Nalethia’s voice was intent as Andre had ever heard it. “We cannot allow them to draw us out. Good hunting, everyone.”

Sergeant T’veya was tapping on Andre’s shoulder. “They’re in range.”

“Roger that. Hit ‘em.”

T’veya nodded. “Heavies, fire!”

A rocket salvo surged forth from Fourth Platoon, followed up with a far more ragged barrage from the few heavy troopers among the militia. _That_ was followed up in short order by a familiar voice snapping out corrections and reprimands---looking over Andre saw the black woman in black armor, Emilia, standing among the militia. The woman caught his look, flashed him a tight smile and thumbs up, and resumed haranguing a trigger-happy militiaman.

The heavies’ rounds impacted home on the Grizzlies’ KBs, overloaded them with a flare of blue light. T’veya, still a heavy trooper at heart, let out a cheer. “LT?”

Andre permitted himself a grin. “Hit ‘em again, try and get some mobility kills!”

More rockets went flying, but this time the Grizzlies had halted, pulling up parallel to the defensive line. Up top the turrets swivelled about, and Andre knew what was coming next.

“Vanguards, barriers up!”

The asari hustled to the front, biotic coronas aflare as their shields enveloped Fourth Platoon’s position, but they couldn’t cover everyone. Cries were soon sounding from the militia’s area, the scrappy locals’ defensive positions going up in gouts of smoke and fire. Andre clapped T’Veya on the shoulder, but the impromptu platoon sergeant was already yelling for the platoon medic to hurry over.

The vanguards lowered their barriers, and just as suddenly ducked behind cover as the now all-too-familiar black armored figures emerged from behind the Grizzlies and advanced, assault rifles spitting fire. Fourth Platoon’s rifles were already stuttering away, but the enemy assault showed no signs of beginning to stall out.

A biotic blue burst blossomed next to Andre, and suddenly the mysterious Emilia was standing next to him, clutching an assault rifle and breathing heavily, face streaked with blood. “How you doing over here, Andre?”

“Oh, you know, decisively engaged.” He shrugged before a too-close burst of gunfire sent him ducking behind cover. “Your people? You need medics from the other platoons?”

“Nah not right now,” Emilia shook her head, briefly popping up to lob several bursts from her rifle at the enemy. Andre blinked as he spied three figures beyond dropping dead. “Fucking one-twenties got us good though.”

Andre followed suit with a burst from his Vindicator and was rewarded with a batarian crumpling to the ground. “Looks like your people are holding though. Gotta say I’m surprised, didn’t think they’d be in this good shape after everything they’ve been through.”

“Fair’s fair,” said Emilia, “my team didn’t think you pirates would be worth much as soldiers either.”

Oh, that stung, but no way was Andre about to let her know that. “Cheers, Emilia. Sarn’t T’Veya, keep those rockets going, heavies can fire at will!”

“You got it boss,” came the shout from down the line and it wasn’t long before rockets were whooshing off at the enemy.

Andre briefly took a second to survey Fourth Platoon. They were still holding, though he spied a few walking wounded among their positions. The militia were considerably more ragged, but still doing admirably at holding the line. The enemy seemed to realize this too, withdrawing back to their Grizzlies. More rockets went slamming into the APCs, but their kinetic barriers held long enough for the surviving APLA troopers to embark.

“All stations, cease fire,” came the call from Captain Nalethia. “Report casualties, and---”

Dull thuds sounded in the distance.

“BARRIERS!” roared Andre. “Barriers up now!”

Biotic shields flared to life along the line, but not before the artillery had already begun to hit home. Next to Andre a black-armored hand shoved him down, and Emilia lent her own shield to the protective umbrella. No matter how many rounds the APLA had ready to send through the tubes, their barrels were likely glowing red-hot. This was no precision attack like the initial fire mission---the entire outpost was saturated, and for a good few minutes too. A good few minutes of screams, cries, pleas for mercy and help.

When the attack ended, it was time to count the dead.

 

* * *

 

Andre had almost never seen Captain Nalethia looking like anything less than in complete control of the situation, but right now the expression on the Captain’s face was dangerously close to exhaustion. “Report.”

It was her, plus three of the platoon leaders in the command center...and no one else. Lieutenant Rid had been vaporized in the final barrage. The laid-back Chief Pek had been killed by a cannon blast from one of the attacking Grizzlies. Andre still had no idea if Operative Bryn was still alive---the aid station had been hit too in the artillery strike.

But it would have been far worse if it hadn’t been for the vanguards among 76 Company and the militia.

“First Platoon is down to fifty percent effectives, ma’am,” said Wasea, voice carefully neutral. “Second is at eighty-five percent. We got lucky.”

Enyala’s fists were clenched as she made her report. “Third Platoon at seventy-five percent.”

Andre coughed. This would be awkward. “Fourth...got lucky, Ma’am. Ninety percent effective.”

Wasea looked away and Enyala shot Andre a look of pure rage, but something, briefly, brightened in Captain Nalethia’s eyes. “Good. We can still make a fight of it if we have to. Lady Sederis is tracking on our losses. We’ll be reinforced as soon as we’re able. Expect mechs and leadership in the short term, proper soldiers as soon as they can send them. In the meantime Captain Vesh and 29 Company will be relieving us here while we’re rotated back aboard _Corona_.”

Lieutenant Enyala looked disgusted. “You mean we’re out of the fight? _Already_?”

Nalethia turned a disdainful look on her bloodthirsty subordinate. “Almost half of First Platoon is dead, Lieutenant, as is far too many of our leadership. Do you truly believe it’s a good idea to throw ourselves into the fire?”

Enyala subsided, but her jaw remained set.

“How soon till we _are_ back in the fight, Ma’am?” asked Wasea, still sounding a bit annoyed at the idea herself.

“Unknown. Lady Sederis refuses to throw us away, but she is understandably not eager to send us back into the fight when we’d be more of a hindrance than help.” Nalethia tapped lacquered nails on her desk, still immaculately turned-out even after the fight. “...go see to your people. Make sure they’re holding up alright. Make any necessary brevet promotions to make sure you have a proper chain of command, we’ll get the paperwork to make them proper ranks once we’re back aboard _Corona_. Yes, Lieutenant Protin?”

Andre lowered his hand. “Ma’am, my Operative…”

Nalethia’s eyes briefly flicked down. “...yes. I think it’s time Xeli T’Veya was promoted Vanguard Sergeant, Andre. She’d do well as platoon sergeant.”

As ways to tell him his second in command was dead, it was remarkably delicate. “Understood, Ma’am.”

“Very well. Dismissed, all of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Mercenaries: The Special Forces Dilemma: More often than not, the mercenary soldier is contracted to import expertise and experience into a standing force. This has the distinct awkwardness of overlapping with the mission of multiple special operations forces. The Hierarchy's Blackwatch, Systems Alliance N-series Marines, Salarian Union Special Tasks Group, and Asari Republics commandos are all used on occasion for capacity-building missions to assist the development of militias and militaries of friendly governments in the verge and Terminus, provide small-scale intervention in brushfire conflicts, and so on. While sometimes these missions are overt, these operators are also sent in as deniable assets to support governmental proxies in wars that would be politically inconvenient for a standing government to get overtly involved in.

It is these situations where mercenary soldiers and operators often cross paths. Typically figures in conspicuously inconspicuous armor will be seen providing training to local forces, leading small patrols in the field, and doing little to draw attention to themselves beyond outstanding competence at soldiering. Experienced mercenary soldiers soon learn to tread lightly around alleged freelancers with good kit, better abilities, and vague accounts of their career history. The operators, for their part, either give the mercenaries a wide berth or build as good a working rapport as they can without compromising their unit or identity---after all, it is in the best interests of both parties that their missions succeed.

One should note that while it may be an open secret who the supposed freelancers truly are, most mercenaries will rarely call the operators out, even jokingly. While Republics commandos or N-Series troopers will often laugh things off with well-practiced humor, those who even seem like they're about to compromise Blackwatch or STG operations often meet with untimely accidents. The most dramatic incident of this was during the civil war on Trendalay, when an entire Blue Suns battalion's command element was killed after joking about how awesome it was to "have STG spooks on their side" during a command staff meeting. The battalion command post, whose location had heretofore been kept secret from the rebels, was shortly thereafter wiped out in an artillery strike. The veterans in the ranks said nothing about the mysterious salarian freelancers who had disappeared shortly before the bombardment, and no cause for the breach of OPSEC was officially determined. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emilia is none other than Something Profound's Shepard from her magnificent Encroachment series; she was a pleasure to write and my thanks to them for permission to write 'em!


	10. Joint Ops

_ Camp Umbra, Anhur, 2177 _

There were a lot more mechs in the camp now, filling the air with the whine of servos and the steady cadence of mechanical footsteps. Awkward LOKIs tramped to and fro as they handled manual labor and internal sentry duties. Squat little FENRIS mechs, occasionally petted by the more sentimental mercs and militia, made mechanical sniffing and growling noises as they walked their patrols. On the perimeter, the massive hulking YMIR mechs occasionally rumbled a baritone warning to any unrecognized friendlies who got too close before their handlers confirmed friendly status.

There were a lot more mechs, but the promised reinforcements hadn’t come, and neither had a rest cure for the battered mercenaries of 76 Company.

Lady Jona Sederis herself had visited Camp Umbra to explain why they’d have to make do with extra mech- rather than man-power. As she’d very icily explained to Captain Nalethia, she needed to know that the Anhur contract wasn’t going to be sunk costs before they committed even more of the company’s manpower into a war that had already cost them so much after New Thebes and the disaster over Neith. 76 Company was going to have to operate as a skeleton chain of command, for now.

Captain Nalethia had saluted and executed, but she hadn’t been happy about it in the slightest. The survivors of the deceased Lieutenant Rid’s decimated platoon had been divvied up to make 76 Company a three-platoon company, quietly bidding their friends farewell as they settled in to unfamiliar billets with passingly familiar platoon-mates. A new Senior Operative was slated to report to fill back in as Nalethia’s second, but Andre hadn’t met the man yet, and he was more concerned with the morale in the newly-renamed Third Platoon.

He was sitting on a cot in the platoon prefab, quietly sipping on his fifth of whiskey that he’d found in Lieutenant Rid’s effects (he’d known the ex-STG man had been sneaky, but he’d never chalked him up as a thief) and listening with half an ear to the bass thud playing from Wasea’s datapad across the prefab. She and Enyala had conferred with their Operatives, made sure their new manpower and mechs were up and running, and now it was once more back to playing the deadly-looking asari knife game they used to blow off steam.

Andre, more methodical in his approach to confirming unit strength, was listening to his new platoon sergeant fill him in on the situation.

“Honestly, Sir, we’re almost at full strength so having the extra LOKIs and FENRIS mechs is just icing on the cake.” Xeli T’Veya, newly-minted as Vanguard Sergeant and platoon sergeant alike, gave him a reassuring smile. “There’s a reason we came through in as good shape as we did. It sucks that Op went down, but...we’re ready for what they throw at us.”

Andre ran a hand through slicked-back hair, looking down at the datapad T’Veya was holding up. It was the unit’s current table of organization and equipment, showing manpower strength and assets allocated, and right now Third was indeed sitting relatively pretty. “You getting any lip from the other squad leaders?”

T’Veya blinked. “LT?”

There was no way she didn’t understand what he was getting at. “Vanguard Sarn’t, months ago ago you were just a Corporal. Now you’ve got two promotions under your belt and you’re a platoon sergeant. No matter how much they might like you the other squad leaders won’t be happy about that.”

The other tilted her head frowning---then laughed as comprehension dawned. “Oh. I don’t think you need to worry about that, LT. I’m Sisterhood. The others know this, comes with the territory.”

Andre suppressed a sigh; again the mysterious Eclipse Sisterhood reared its head, this time to reveal a miraculous ability to sweep aside considerations of experience, rank or time served in grade. Scratching irritably at his temple, he gave T’Veya an exasperated look. “One of these days someone is gonna have to explain to me what the hell this Sisterhood is. And don’t give me the ‘it’s an asari thing,’ Vanguard Sarn’t.”

Xeli T’Veya chuckled. “Even if it is?”

This time, Andre didn’t bother to suppress the sigh, and took an extra-long pull of whiskey, hissing at the burn as the bass across the room dropped. He looked back to the NCO next to him with a weary expression, surveying T’Veya. She was young, for an asari, couldn’t have been older than a hundred and fifty, with bright blue skin and intricate white tattoos sinuously winding their way along her cheek, and she looked back at him with the preternatural cheer and optimism that had proven her hallmark.

It still threw Andre for a loop, that. Mercenary soldiering rarely attracted the pollyannas of the galaxy. “No one’s gonna give me a straight answer on this one without me going to the Captain, are they...”

“Doubt they will, LT.” T’Veya grinned and tapped at the datapad, shifting from the platoon’s strength to a communique from Captain Nalethia---standing orders, nothing special. “At any rate, that’s all I had for you. Anything you had for me?”

Andre shook his head. “Poll the squad leaders, see if there’s any outstanding concerns. Deal out...yeah we can afford that...a four-man FENRIS team to each squad, and...let’s see….six LOKIs. We can shift around as necessary. Anything you need from me?”

Xeli T’Veya leaned in. “...maybe make it five LOKIs, keep some in with you and the platoon command team as close protection---for you, me, our comm-spec?”

“Do it,” Andre said without hesitating. “Alright, Vanguard Sarn’t, time to go check in with our esteemed leader.”

 

* * *

The ‘esteemed leader’ in question was sitting in her personal prefab, a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy more than a third of the way gone, and swapping stories with a black-skinned figure in black armor. It didn’t take Andre long to recognize Captain Nalethia’s drinking buddy: Emilia, the tight-lipped “freelancer” team leader.

He drew himself up as he stepped into the prefab, bracing to attention but not quite sure if this was a saluting occasion. Eclipse was weird like that. “Ah---Ma’am. Emilia. Sorry to interrupt. Do you have a moment?”

“Ah, Andre, of course!” Captain Nalethia waved Andre over with all the generous grandeur of the Republics blue blood running in her veins. “Come, come. Emilia and I were simply swapping war stories from over the years, I’d no idea we’d crossed paths on occasions before this one.”

The human woman sized up Andre with a wry expression; though the overturned glasses in front of her (a tradition from one commando cadre or another) attested to the Serrice Ice she’d put away, the woman was just as somberly intense as she’d been on the battlefield. “Hello again, Andre.”

The Lieutenant pulled up a chair, reaching for a clean glass and waiting for Captain Nalethia to pass over the Serrice Ice. “Hi Emilia, guess you’re talking to pirate leadership now?”

A tight grin---not a hostile one, but one with a hint of challenge to it---tugged at the woman’s face. “Yeah I guess you folks might be worth my time. Some of you in particular. You want to tell him, Captain, or shall I?”

“Hmmm? Oh, yes, of course. Listen closely, Andre.” Nalethia had idly been toying with some biotic pulses in between her fingertips; Andre blinked, clearly unsure what to make of her current state. He didn’t think he’d ever seen the Captain this drunk before. He didn’t think he’d seen the Captain  _ drunk  _ to begin with before. What did it take to get a four-hundred-year-old biotic commando smashed? Clearly more than sharing half a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy.

Then all of a sudden biotics were enveloping Andre and yanking him in close, lacquered purple nails reaching up to tilt his head over, and Nalethia was looking up at him almost coyly. “Listening now? Good. Emilia here has a mission for some of us, and she’s requested my best platoon to support. That, my dear Andre, means you and Third.”

Andre’s eyes flicked over to Emilia; the biotic commando was sitting there with an attitude of slightly detached amusement as she watched the byplay, and she shrugged before replying. “You’re the one most intact manpower-wise, if nothing else. Fancy a bit of search and rescue?”

“I’ll not say no to a chance to hand it to the blinks,” responded Andre, gently wiggling free from Captain Nalethia’s taloned grip on his chin. “We still owe them for Op.”

Emilia tilted her head. “Yeah, your Operative. I never had a chance to meet him, what was he like?”

“A grumpy old bastard,” said Andre. “But loyal.”

The ghost of something passed over Emilia’s face. “Sounds like some I’ve known, in my time. Alright, Andre, we’ll do it for Bryn.”

He blinked at that; he’d never mentioned the old salarian’s name to Emilia, but the “freelancer” was already continuing.

“Take these datacards; one copy for you, one for your new second. Study them, memorize them, draw up an OPORD from them, and destroy them afterwards.”

Andre looked down at the datacards, nodded once as he pocketed them. “Alright, Emilia, you got yourself a deal. We’ll have an order for you no later than one day out. Boss, you need anything else?”

Captain Nalethia, beaming with pride, lounged back in her office chair as if it were a noblewoman’s chaise. “No, I do believe I’m quite alright, Andre. You’re dismissed.”

Andre drew himself up, saluted, and took his leave before Captain Nalethia could grab him once more.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Third Platoon’s soldiers were in the motor pool, busy conducting maintenance and checks on their vehicles, loading ammunition and double-checking diagnostics on the mechs. Troopers exchanged pre-mission good luck rituals and armor checks with each other, confirmed weapons were operational and exchanged datasticks with messages home. Andre and Xeli T’Veya strode through it all like the eye of the hurricane, quietly murmuring to each other. The Vanguard Sergeant had her datapad held up in front of her like a totem, and her eyes blossomed with the fury of Athame Rala herself every time she spied something among the hardware that dared deviate from platoon standard. It wasn’t long before troopers were  _ triple _ -checking everything was in order when they saw she was coming.

Andre Protin suppressed a smile behind one gauntlet. Not even a month on the job and already T’Veya was making for a fine senior non-commissioned officer.

There were some extra personnel from outside the platoon present, four of them, to be exact. One of them was a familiar olive-skinned figure with a pilot’s light armor and a wicked smile slashed across her face, ponytail swaying in the early morning breeze. Andre’s old card partner still yet to give him her name. What she  _ had  _ given instead was an affectionate punch to the shoulder and a callsign---Sunflare Three-One.

The other three attachments were the grim-eyed faces of Emilia and the remainder of her totally-not-SF team. Spying Andre’s approach, Emilia walked over to shake his hand with a bone-crushing grip.

“Morning, LT.”

“Morning, Emilia. Team treating you OK?”

Emilia gave that tight smile of hers; the woman reminded Andre of a coiled spring, perpetually tensed up and ready to strike. Someone like her wasn’t made for garrison duty, it was for the best she was out here in this hell of a war. “Your platoon, certainly, but I ran across a certain Lieutenant Enyala when I went looking for you in the officer prefab…”

Andre didn’t even bother suppressing his groan. The last thing they needed was for Enyala’s virulent brand of speciesm to impact inter-unit operations. “Oh no…”

“First she asked her friend who the new furhead was, then she asked me if I was in the wrong place, and then she said I should get out if I didn’t want a biotic makeover.” Emilia’s smile grew. “I asked her if she wanted one first.”

“God.” Andre buried his face in his hands. “Was there a fight?”

“Naaahhh.” Emilia’s smile was positively wicked. “I think we understand each other well enough.”

“Right…” Putting aside thoughts of biotic duels, Andre reached out to motion Xeli T’Veya over. “Vanguard Sarn’t, grab the squad leaders.”

T’Veya was already breaking out what Andre had begun to privately think of us as her batarian slavemaster voice, and the squad leaders were hustling over, three asari and one salarian curiously regarding the assemblage of outsiders in the motor pool.

Andre stepped forward. “I won’t waste your time reiterating the mission, OPORD’s already been disseminated and we’ve already run our rehearsals. Some quick side points---Emilia and her team here will be rolling under the callsign Ember, One for Emilia, Two and Three for her charmingly taciturn colleagues. Emilia will be riding with me, the other two will be with Second and Third Squad’s vehicles”

The other two totally-not-SF-troopers didn’t so much as twitch a facial muscle at Andre’s joke. Good comedy was never appreciated.

“Last but not least we’ll have attack aviation on-call. Sunflare Three-One and her Mantis will be our eye in the sky for this operation, and as I understand it her trigger finger’s been itching since she got dirtside on Anhur, would that be right Three-One?”

The pilot gave the squad leaders her knife-slash smile and depressed the firing button of an invisible pilot’s yoke.

“Pending any further questions----” There were none. “---alright. To your vics people. Good luck.”

The squad leaders immediately broke free, turning to yell orders to their people, and the sea of yellow armor in the motor pool began to thin out as the troopers scrambled aboard M-080s. The checks were complete, everyone had just been waiting for the word.

Andre watched it all, arms folded, as Vanguard Sergeant T’Veya stood at his side with her totem-like datapad held up in front of her. It wasn’t long before the two were the last ones standing, and they exchanged a quick fist bump before mounting up in Second Squad’s vehicle.

The M-080 interior was a bit cramped---in addition to the LOKIs, Emilia was strapping herself in next to where Andre and T’Veya had originally planned to sit. With a rueful sigh, Andre motioned for his Vanguard Sergeant to settle in, grabbing for a handhold on the ceiling. From the front, the driver waved back.

“Hey LT! You can come up and ride shotgun with us if you want!”

“Pass,” said Andre with a snort, “I never was one for the driver’s seat. All Renegade F---”

Dammit.

“---Renegade Three elements, this is Three-Six. Move out.”

Engines roared to life, quick comm messages exchanged with the perimeter security elements, banter swapped between drivers, and Third Platoon’s M-080s rolled out of the safe confines of Camp Umbra into the artillery-scarred wilderness that was Anhur. Almost immediately the ride became more and more bumpy as vehicles went bucketing across shell craters and crested impromptu defenses. T’Veya and Emilia, seated, emitted bit-back curses as they were thrown against their restraints. Andre, clinging for dear life onto the ceiling handhold, didn’t even bother holding his back.

“Having fun up there, Lieutenant?” asked Emilia, expression perfectly innocent.

“Oh, totally,” retorted Andre, still struggling to find his feet.

“Don’t worry LT!” chimed in T’Veya, perky smile now infuriating rather than endearing. “It’s only thirty mikes to the target ville.”

“Yeah, I--- _ fuck _ \---” Andre was cut off as a particularly deep shell crater nearly sent him crashing to the floor of the troop bay. “Do we get to learn why this guy in particular needs to be liberated, Emilia?”

“Nope,” came the immediate reply. “But if this guy in particular isn’t still among the living the blinks are gonna have some serious regrets.”

Andre fell silent at that, exchanging looks with T’Veya. Whatever vengeance an undercover special forces team could wreak on the slavers, it probably was the sort that would make Eclipse’s operations look positively restrained.

Hopefully their priority target was still alive.

 

* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Eclipse - Air Support:  No self-respecting mercenary force will operate without air cover (the Blood Pack being a notable exception), whether its own or provided by an employer. Typically smaller private military companies or freelance formations will simply employ pilots, gunners and ground crew, trusting the contracting authority to provide them with an airframe that can at least be put in flight-worthy condition by experienced mechanics. Larger elements, such as the Eclipse and Blue Suns, will mount their own internal air assets.

For Eclipse, obtaining air supremacy or air superiority is a cornerstone of their operations---technical excellence is the company's stock in trade, and piloting is just as technical a profession as being a combat engineer or mech-support specialist. While Eclipse certainly can and will carry out operations without close air support on-hand, the company prefers to have air assets available for any large-scale operation involving a commitment of battalion strength or above, or for security operations involving critical facilities or infrastructure. Doctrine states that when air assets are available, an Air Liaison Officer (ALO) is integrated at company level to coordinate support for infantry operations, and Forward Air Controllers (FAC) are integrated down at the platoon level to handle calling for and directing airstrikes.

Unfortunately, doctrine is not always followed, and ALO duties are often taken care of by making them another hat for a company's Vanguard Sergeant to wear. At the platoon level, pilots are simply given the platoon frequency, with platoon leader and platoon operative calling in airstrikes. While this can occasionally cause problems by tying up comms channels on the ground or having an overworked operations sergeant to neglect ALO work, Eclipse's dearth of trained ALOs and FACs and the training that platoon leaders and operatives receive in utilizing close air support ensures the lack of specialists is rarely a serious issue.

Eclipse attack craft can be divided into two categories: fighters and gunships. The latter, almost always the ubiquitous A-61 Mantis, are by far the most common. Gunships operate in flights of four craft---four flights form a squadron, three squadrons form a wing. The wing is typically attached to a battalion, with its component squadrons ideally dispatched to individual companies, and flights down to the platoon. Of course, these assets are rarely so static, shifted wherever the battalion needs them, but the gunship wing - infantry battalion marriage is almost always set in stone. Fighters, typically previous-generation F-61 Tridents, are almost always spaceborne assets, used to protect Eclipse transports and support larger craft in space engagements.

An interesting cultural note is the pride--almost approaching arrogance--of the Trident pilots. While Mantis gunship pilots mix freely with and are often feted by the infantry, Eclipse Trident pilots typically keep to themselves and keep company only with each other or, rarely, naval crewers. While this has not noticeably impacted Trident effectiveness on the rare occasions they are called upon to provide close air support, it has made them distinctly unpopular with Eclipse's groundpounders to the point where they are decidedly unwelcome in infantry officer or NCO clubs...should the pilots deign to want to want to visit such places to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emilia Shepard belongs to Something Profound, and I've received permission for her to be a recurring character, my thanks once again to them for it!


	11. Retrieval Op

_En route to Nubia, Anhur, 2177_

 

Three klicks out from the target village, things went south. Fast.

“I’ve got no lifesigns,” came the call from Sunflare Three-One, voice tight. “I say again, Renegade Three-Six, we have no lifesigns on the ground.”

Hanging on for dear life to a ceiling handhold in the lead M-080, Andre Protin bit back a curse and trusted in his balance long enough to slap his omnitool to life. “Say again, Three-One, thought you said _no lifesigns_.”

“Three-Six, that’s affirmative.” The gunship pilot sounded about as pissed as she had facing down Lieutenant Enyala in the officer’s mess. “My Mantis isn’t picking up anything. Human, batarian, nothing.”

Andre looked to his left, where Emilia somehow managed to loom in her seat like a dark-skinned stormcloud, intently focusedon the gunship pilot’s words. “Three-Six, Ember One. Any unusual signs in the ville, areas your sensors aren’t getting _any_ reading?”

If Three-One had any issues taking orders from the totally-not-an-Alliance-commando, her voice wasn’t showing it. “Uhhh...more than a few patches here and there, actually. How----?”

“Sensor cloaks.” Emilia was getting to her feet, unslinging her rifle and demeanor shifting into the hard-edged intensity that only years of experience on the front could lend an officer. Any thoughts that her freelancer cover story might be valid were instantly banished from Andre’s mind. “Lieutenant! Have your platoon prepare to dismount, we’re about to make contact.”

Old habits died hard. “Yes Ma’am,” said Andre, before looking over to the cheery asari keeping tabs on the conversation. “Vanguard Sarn’t, have the platoon prepare to dismount.”

Xeli T’Veya, still seated, mirrored Emilia’s producing of her rifle before tugging on her helmet. “You got it boss! Renegade Three-Seven to all elements, prepare to dismount and engage…”

Emilia wasn’t done yet. “Sunflare Three-One, target those blind spots. Missiles, HMG, whatever you’re packing.”

“Roger that,” came the immediate response. “Three-One, rolling in hot, guns, guns, guns…”

The metallic chatter of a Mantis’ heavy machine guns roaring to life sounded outside the APCs.

Andre, meanwhile, was dialled into his platoon frequency. All four squad leaders had checked in, mechs were up and online and ready to dismount first. Once the M-080s halted the turrets would engage enemy positions while the mechs dismounted and drew fire. After that the organic troopers of Third Platoon would dismount and move in. They’d practiced it at Camp Umbra, they’d drilled it plenty of times. Time now to see if they’d drilled it enough.

In the meantime though… “Sunflare Three-One, this is Renegade Three-Six, report, over.”

His answer came in the form of the sudden eruption of gunfire from outside the APC. There was a screech as the vehicles ground to a halt, and Andre found himself pitched forward into Xeli T’Veya’s lap. The asari NCO’s helmeted head regarded him curiously as he found his footing, and then Sunflare Three-One’s voice was crackling through.

“Ember One called it, Three-Six! We got APLA everywhere---I’ll do what I can up here but I need someone to draw their fire off me, over.”

“Copy,” said Andre, more harshly than he meant to. “All squads, mechs dismount and engage! APCs, cover ‘em!”

The bay doors of the APC hissed open, and with stolid, clanking footsteps six LOKI mechs marched past Andre to dismount onto Anhur soil, submachine guns already chattering to life. Almost immediately two of the ungainly mechs went clattering to the ground, pierced by heavy firepower from APLA marksmen.

Almost immediately the APCs let loose a rejoinder, 120 millimeter cannons and machine guns spewing leaden death at the APLA positions. Andre didn’t even bother to hide the heavy breathing that overwhelmed him as another mech fell with a clatter, and looking to his right he saw Emilia step up next to him and lay a heavy hand on his shoulder.

The mechs had done their part. Enemy fire was drawn, time to make their move.

Andre keyed his comms. “Alright! Third Platoon, dismount and engage!”

And with that he went bounding out of the vehicle.

The first thing he noticed was the damned _mud_ , and it made sprinting for cover far more of a pain in the ass than it had any right to be. Still, an officer had to lead from the front and so Andre found himself racing to take the lead, throwing himself into cover behind a convenient storefront as rounds from an APLA machine gun nest ripped into the ground where he’d been...and took down the three LOKIs that had been trailing him. But one, two, three Eclipse troopers came charging into cover behind him. If the thumbs-up was any indicator, one of them was Vanguard Sergeant T’Veya.

Judging by the amount of fire being exchanged beyond their relatively comfortable respite, the advance had bogged down.

Andre peeked out from beyond cover, nearly ate a salvo of slugs, and immediately withdrew. “Sunflare Three-One!”

“Standing by, Renegade Three-Six----”

“I count at least two machine gun nests out there, can you assist?”

“Card tables and combat zones alike, I can save you at both LT. Rolling in hot.”

There was a brief moment of silence, then the thrum of Mantis engines sounded from afar and the _whoosh_ of missiles being loosed shortly thereafter. There were explosions from the APLA positions, cries for medics, and the Mantis swooped by to await its next call for help.

Andre once more peered out from behind cover, nearly got the closest shave of his life from a machine gun, and ducked back with a curse. “This is Three-Six, there’s still an MG out there, can anyone---”

A burst of biotic blue blossomed off on Andre’s flank and three figures went cannoning forward into the APLA positions, already engaging with their shotguns before the slavers could recover from the biotic charge. It was Emilia and her friends, of course, making short work of the enemy.

“You’re clear, Renegade!” came the harsh bark over the comms. “Keep it moving!”

She wasn’t wrong on either count there. Andre keyed his comm, mentally thanking whatever Alliance interests that were at stake out here that had warranted an SF deployment. “Ember One, Renegade Three-Six copies. All elements move up, mechs take the lead, APCs cover.”

There were a few quick acknowledgements over the comms and the M-080s thundered to life, slowly rolling forward as the remnants of the platoon’s LOKI mech vanguard tramped forward, panning their SMGs around. The APC gunners were similarly on watch, and the platoon’s organic soldiers fell in alongside the vehicles.

Resistance had melted away entirely too quickly for Andre’s liking, and his Vindicator’s safety remained off even as he kept an eye on the sensor readouts scrolling across his tech armor’s HUD. “All elements, this is Three-Six keep your heads on a swivel and barrels up, break. Sunflare Three-One, see anything?”

There was a moment of silence over the comms as the gunship pirouetted about overhead. “...Three-Six, be advised we got more of those blank spots. No life signs otherwise not from friendly elements.”

“They’d better have their prisoners in those things,” came Emilia’s growled reply. “Or their day is going to get _much_ worse.”

Xeli T’Veya, walking next to Andre, gave her platoon leader a concerned tilt of her head. Andre wasn’t surprised. Sunny soul that she was, T’Veya and Emilia were about as alike as chalk and cheese, and something was telling him the Vanguard Sergeant was going to offer some Capital-O Opinions about their totally-not-SF friends back at Camp Umbra.

In the meantime, they had a job to do. Waving T’Veya’s concerns off, Andre keyed his comm. “Alright, split by squads. First, Second, Third head for those blank spots. Fourth, stand fast here and strongpoint our exit. APCs go with your respective unit. Ember One, I know I can’t give you orders, but…”

“Two and Three break off,” came the immediate crisp reply from Emilia, her black-armored figure moving up to fall in alongside Andre and T’Veya. Her two comrades---whose names Andre still hadn’t gotten---went biotic-charging off to move up with Second and Third squads.

Rubble crunched under Andre’s boots as the squad moved up under the watchful eye of its armored support, and odd senses crashed in on him. The pungent aura of burning debris and flesh comingled, the weird geometries of the bombed-out buildings, and the utter, overwhelming _silence_ of the city beyond the rhythmic crunching steps of the assault force’s boots. The yellow armor was a strange contrast with the black building facades, glossy finish showing through where not scarred by gunfire, explosions, or blood.

Andre closed his eyes, took a deep breath. He knew why this was all piling in. This was just like the Blitz, or rather its aftermath. He’d not been quite sure if he was still alive until his company commander had tearfully hugged him as they sat hunkered down behind a barricade with dead comrades on either side.

Another deep breath. This wasn’t the Blitz. This was Anhur. And they still had a job to do.

And they had a hell of a lot more to do it with than in the Blitz.

Andre keyed his comm. “Sunflare, give each of those blank spots a three-second burst, smoke the fuckers out.”

Xeli T’Veya’s voice crackled over the comms. “LT hang on, if there’s civvies---”

Fair point. “Do it just outside the blank zones, acknowledge?”

“Copy that.” The gunship pilot sounded almost elated at the thought of finally being able to go weapons free again, and the Mantis once more vectored about, hydraulics whining as its cannon swivelled about. “Rolling in hot, guns guns guns---”

The cannon chattered to life once, twice, thrice more. Next to the vehicles, the squad tensed, waiting to see what the APLA response would be---

\---several dull thuds sounded from inside a nearby building.

“Mortars!” barked Vanguard Sergeant T’Veya. “Cover now!”

The squad split up, racing into the nearby buildings as small-arms fire followed up the mortar explosions. Andre flung himself flat into a convenient doorway, positioned himself so he could just about peek out from behind cover, and began laying down fire. Behind him a stream of profanities and commands to the soldiers in cover with him indicated the presence of Emilia.

“We’re pinned!” snapped the commando. “Look at those mortar hits!”

“What about them?” asked Andre, struggling to see through the dust cloud left by the explosions.

“That’s not dust!”

Andre blinked, squinting at the cloud, and then it hit him. “GAS GAS GAS!”

The call immediately went out over the platoon net, that one deadly word echoed three times as the teams moved to secure helmets.

“Where’s your damned helmet, Lieutenant?” snapped Emilia, affixing the breather attachment onto her own helmet.

“In the vic!” shot back Andre, still triggering gunfire before fumbling in his kit for a rebreather. “Eclipse officers don’t wear buckets!”

Emilia said something just then, about pirates and discipline, but Andre was too busy trying to see through the smoke. “Sunflare Three-One, have we got any civvies? Any hostages at all?”

“Negative, negative,” came the voice of the gunship pilot, orbiting high in the sky above the impact zones. “You got gas blocking chokepoints in between you and the APLA strongpoints, they want you getting through. I don’t see any human life signs from their positions either.”

Shit. Either the hostages were dead, the hostages were moved, or there had never been any hostages to begin with and this was a damned trap. Andre looked to Emilia. “We gotta pull back, this is a damned meat grinder and the last thing we need is to get gassed looking for some big shot who isn’t even here.”

Emilia’s features spoke eloquently to her disgust with the whole situation but she nodded her agreement. “They’re not here. We don’t even know if they ever _were_ here. Time to move.”

Andre clapped her on the shoulder and keyed his comms. “All Renegade Three elements, recall your LOKIs if you can and mount up on your vics, we’re RTB. APCs and Sunflare, cover the withdrawal.”

The Mantis was instantly swooping by overhead, loosing a barrage of missiles at a particularly troublesome cluster of machine-gun nests through the haze of smoke. Andre watched it go, shook his head, and took another second to tighten the strap around his rebreather before beginning to sprint over to First Squad’s APC.

This time he was fortunate enough to be able to secure himself a seat---but a second later a new stench, that of sweaty batarian, was assailing his senses and completely killing his ability to relax.

Xeli T’Veya had taken a prisoner, the Vanguard Sergeant hauling aboard a thickset batarian restrained with stun-cuffs and looking exceedingly irritated. The Vanguard Sergeant, in turn, was even perkier than usual, and Andre could’ve sworn he heard _whistling_ behind her helmet.

Emilia, however, had a nasty smile forming on her face as she tugged off her rebreather. “We could do with some intel. One of their fighters or one of their slave castes?”

T’Veya had been the last one aboard with her new friend, and she slapped the door control with a shrug. “He came at us with a Revenant so I’m pretty sure he’s not some poor, oppressed slave.”

Emilia’s grin widened. “Excellent.”

 

* * *

 

Captain Nalethia T'Resh was waiting for them in her command post back at Camp Umbra, surveying a datapad as she imperiously stood over the tactical plot showing the disposition of all forces in their area. There was a new face at her side too, a ramrod-straight salarian absent both horns and one arm. He had elected to eschew a cybernetic; his left arm halted at the elbow, and an omnitool was projected into empty space.

Andre, Xeli, and Emilia paced into the prefab and came to a halt. The two Eclipse mercs saluted, but Emilia settled for merely nodding respectfully.

The Captain regarded her datapad for a couple seconds more, but the salarian’s intent gaze bored into the trio like a mining laser. Andre inwardly winced. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with any more intense leadership in the AO---Emilia’s restrained ferocity was tough enough as it was.

Nalethia lowered her datapad, giving the trio a faint smile and returning their salutes. “Welcome back Lieutenant, Vanguard Sergeant...Madam Emilia. I understand you were able to salvage the operation.”

“Yes Ma’am,” said Andre. “One prisoner, an APLA fighter. Might be leadership too, so with luck we’ll get some decent intel.”

“Indeed.” Nalethia looked to Emilia, features somber. “You have my condolences, Madam. With luck they were simply relocated elsewhere on-world.”

Emilia gave the Captain her trademark tight smile. “They’d better hope they did so.”

“Indeed,” repeated Captain Nalethia, and waved to the salarian. “May I present 76 Company’s new Chief Operative, Yehlen Pek. Chief, this is Lieutenant Andre Protin and Vanguard Sergeant Xeli T’Veya of my Third Platoon, as well as Emilia, one of our freelancer comrades.”

Andre blinked at the name, but Xeli beat him to the punch. “Wait, Pek? Like our old Chief?”

The salarian’s voice was hoarse, raspy like a knife blade glancing off armor. “Mynar was my brother, so yes. Like your old Chief.”

Best salvage the situation; the cheery Vanguard Sergeant and this guy were going to be like chalk and cheese. Andre piped up. “Your brother was a good man. We’re sorry for your loss.”

Yehlen’s dull eyes slowly moved over to fix on Andre, scrutinizing him. “Yes. Thank you.”

Andre heard an exasperated sigh from Emilia next to him, the not-a-commando no doubt fed up already with the salarian’s tough-guy routine. But Andre knew better than to write the new Pek off as a poser---one didn’t rise to the rank of Chief Operative without some _serious_ experience in the Union Military, or within Eclipse. Judging by his coarse manner and missing arm, Yehlen Pek more than fit the bill.

Captain Nalethia stepped forward to gently move up past the Chief, graceful as ever. “I do have some good news. Lady Sederis is willing to commit more manpower to the field, so we will have some more friends here at Camp Umbra shortly.”

“Back to full strength, Ma’am?” asked Andre.

“No.” For a brief second, something froze on the Captain’s face, no doubt the closest she could come to outright disagreeing with Sederis. “Lady Sederis has rotated in fresh units to garrison Camp Umbra. 76 Company will be taking a more...kinetic role.”

“Search and destroy then?” Xeli had clearly perked up just at the thought. “Sounds like fun, Ma’am.”

Nalethia gave Xeli an indulgent smile and shook her head. “Unfortunately, Vanguard Sergeant, we’re still awaiting orders. Lieutenant, make sure your men have sufficient time to rest and refit before they’re back on the line. You two are dismissed….Madam Emilia, if you’ve the time, I do have something more to discuss with you.”

Andre and Xeli immediately exchanged salutes with the Captain, but before they could leave the tent Emilia clapped Andre on the shoulder with something approaching an actual smile.

“Hey. Good work out there.”

Andre blinked, then grinned. He’d never gotten kudos from an N-series before. “Thank you Ma’am. We just tried to keep up.”

“Keep trying then.” The good cheer morphed, shifted into something nastier on her face. “Don’t let anyone talk to that blink before me.”

Bang went the mood. Andre swallowed. “Yes, Ma’am.”

He and Xeli got out of the tent fast as they could after that. Behind them, Yehlen Pek was shaking Emilia’s hand with his sole limb. The battered old salarian was smiling.

 

* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

The Alliance and Terminus Brushfires: It is a truism of life in the Terminus Systems that war is interminable. Safety is only a passing illusion against the constant onslaught of political upheaval, shifting alliances, and criminal attacks, and even the big governments of C-Space dare not intervene.

Like all truisms, there is a grain of truth to this. For the Systems Alliance, intervention in the Terminus Systems risks political and military quagmire alike, to say nothing of arousing the ire of heretofore quiescent criminal groups that have ignored alliance assets as potential targets. Potential colonists in the Terminus are informed of the risks they are assuming prior to stepping off, warned the Alliance cannot or will not provide them with security except in the most unusual of circumstances, and given a hearty good luck before departing.

There are, however, exceptions. While the Alliance has never and likely  _will_ never deploy a full-strength conventional military force into the Terminus, there have been multiple occasions when the scalpel rather than the broadsword has been employed. Alliance N-Series Marines, the elite special forces commandos, have repeatedly assisted preferred sides of brushfire wars under the guise of being freelance mercenary soldiers. Arms shipments, delivered via fronts and shell companies, have been sent to similarly favorable factions. And every now and again, the Alliance will directly intervene when large amounts of its citizenry (or sufficiently important individuals) are in trouble.

Such interventions, when uncovered, are but brief eggs on the Alliance's face. The fact of the matter is that it would take a truly egregious intervention to unite the Terminus against the Alliance, and the warring parties are content to allow the covert operations...particularly when they are the ones benefiting.


	12. Memories

_ Camp Umbra, Anhur, 2176 _

Enyala had a knife.

This alone would hardly have counted as news among 76 Company’s leadership; blades, whether for utility or combat, were commonplace as accessories among the officers and NCOs. They were used to open field rations, make games of chance more exciting, settle matters of mercenary honor, and every now and again against an enemy.

Most of these blades, however, did not have a handle made out of human bone.

“See?” Enyala said to Andre with a supremely smug expression, waving the knife’s handle uncomfortably close to Andre’s face. “You humans  _ are  _ good for something.”

Andre, wishing he had bought more whiskey dirtside, looked over to where the other asari platoon leader was sitting in the corner of the officer prefab. “Wasea?”

“What’s up?” asked the other, not looking up from where she was cleaning her shotgun.

“Why?”

“Just roll with it, shoot blinks, and drink.” Wasea began slotting components back home, shrugging at the sheer exasperation in Andre’s voice. “It’s what I do.”

Andre looked back to Enyala. “Did you find that on a slaver---”

“Nope.” Enyala truly had perfected the art of the shit-eating grin. “Made it myself.”

“Of course you did. Your family must be so proud.” Andre was too tired to worry about her possibly using the weapon on him. He and Xeli T’Veya had been told that Third Platoon was going to be first in the chute for any possible support Emilia and her not-commandos needed in the future, and the team had been drilling relentlessly as a result. At least the Vanguard Sergeant was squared-away enough to handle the bulk of the admin, but Andre was  _ beat _ .

There was a sound from the doorway, a rasp of metal, and the cadaverous bulk of the new Chief Operative loomed in the entrance. Yehlen Pek’s dull gaze flicked from Wasea, to Andre, to Enyala, and the salarian’s eyes briefly narrowed at the sight of the latter’s new blade. “Pardon my intrusion. Lieutenant Protin. Captain Nalethia would like to speak with you.”

Andre blinked, but drew himself up and secured his rifle to his backplate, all too keen of Enyala’s mocking stare boring into his back. “She say what she want, Chief?”

“No,” said Pek, and stood aside to let Andre out.

Camp Umbra was bustling with its usual military activity, and over the orders, clank of mechs and machines, and the occasional curse, Andre could hear the familiar bark of Emilia and her commandos making soldiers out of militia. Behind him, Chief Pek gave a faintly contemptuous sniff and set off for the Captain’s prefab.

Andre found himself having to lengthen his strides to keep up with the salarian, though he did his best not to make it too obvious. Pek’s jaundiced gaze seemed to get more exasperated when he regarded humans. “So how long have you been with the company, Chief?”

“Nine months,” came the clipped response. “I was Union, before that.”

Interesting. Andre knew that one could enter Eclipse in the hallowed rank of Operative with enough experience in the Union military, but to come in as a Chief was rare indeed. “STG?”

“I was in the service during your arrival on the galactic stage,” rasped Pek. “Shanxi was very educational.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Pek finally looked down, dark yellow eyes scrutinizing Andre. “You’re as self-righteous as the volus, but without the economic acumen to back it up. Blustery as the turians, but without the experience, discipline or technology to go toe-to-toe with them.”

Andre suppressed a groan. “And as self-important as the salarians, without the wealth of knowledge that allows you to be like that?”

Yehlen Pek was quiet for a couple of seconds, slowly blinking, and then something that might have been a smile tugged at the salarian’s face. “Precisely.”

They were at the Captain’s prefab now, and Pek motioned for Andre to wait outside. Resigned to a few more minutes outside in the sweltering heat, Andre sighed and posted up next to the door at something approximating attention. Good discipline was never out of place when dealing with the Captain.

He hadn’t been there thirty seconds when the door opened, and Lady Jona Sederis walked out.

Andre might have passed unnoticed if it wasn’t for the surprised gasp. The leader of Eclipse was wearing a bodysuit in corporate colors, black with yellow piping, and what looked like an actual  _ sword _ over her shoulder. Andre had heard of traditional asari weaponry like that, but to see one taken into the field was unprecedented in his experience.

That was all besides the point because Sederis was giving him a look that mixed equal parts exasperation and scorn. “Don’t stand there looking so  _ terrified _ , human. Either salute like your kind so loves to do, or find some other way to render respect.”

Andre gulped and braced to backbreaking attention and saluted. “Yes, Lady Sederis, please forgive me.”

The Eclipse leader sniffed contemptuously, and made as if to turn away---and then swung back round and stalked closer to Andre, looking him up and down. “Wait a minute. I recognize you. You’re Nalethia’s pet subaltern, aren’t you?”

That was...one hell of a descriptor. And what in the galaxy was a subaltern? “Yes, Lady Sederis, I serve under Captain Nalethia.”

Another contemptuous sniff. “No idea why, it’s hardly as if your commission makes you up to the standards of an asari commando officer. How many years of service did you have in the Alliance?”

“Four, Lady Sederis.” Andre’s arm was starting to ache, but until Sederis was gone or returned it, there was no way he was gonna risk lowering his salute. “I left the service after the Blitz.”

Jona Sederis arched her brows, stepping closer. “Four years and you only left a Lieutenant? Why did you not earn your captaincy?”

Andre swallowed, feeling tunnel vision starting to close in as Sederis stepped closer. “There were extenuating circumstances, Lady Sederis, I---”

He was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind him. “Ah, there you are Lieutenant. Lady Sederis, might I steal my platoon leader away from you for a bit?”

The familiar hauteur of Nalethia T’Resh was like a breath of fresh air for Andre, safe enough a refuge that he lowered his salute and relaxed---only a bit---from attention.

“By all means, Nalethia, I think I’ve terrified your poor human enough for now. Good day.” Jona Sederis pivoted about to depart for the landing pad, leaving a very relieved Andre in her wake.

The Captain walked over to Andre, giving him a reassuring smile as she placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him into the prefab. She didn’t say a word as Chief Yehlen Pek made his exit past them, gaze flicking down to the Captain’s hold on Andre as he left the prefab. Not until the prefab door hissed shut did Nalethia T’Resh’s smile assume a more wry tone and a slightly exasperated sigh slipped past her purple-painted lips---the same color, Andre noticed, that she traditionally lacquered her nails.

“Forgive Lady Sederis,” said Nalethia, releasing Andre to walk over to her desk and open a compartment on the side. There was a hiss and puff of air as if a cryo container had been opened, and she produced a bottle and two chilled glasses. “She...is not quite yet used to human officers within her ranks. But you’re certainly doing your level best to change her impressions.”

Andre frowned, looking down to the really, really expensive-looking liquor that was being decanted and poured. “Respectfully, Ma’am, our last mission was a failure.”

Nalethia looked up from the glasses, regarding Andre patiently. “Through no fault of your own, and you still gained significant actionable intelligence from the prisoner you took. Both Emilia and Vanguard Sergeant T’Veya have had very complimentary assessments of your performance. As did Operative Bryn. Sit.”

He sat, squirming uncomfortably. Too many shades of the Blitz here; the favorable reports and commendations issued after disasters and failures to assuage the guilt and ego of the survivors. Even the expensive liquor that was being held out in a crystal glass seemed to be intended to smooth over the fact that their VIP was either dead or enslaved.

And to be drinking one on one with a superior officer. “Ma’am---”

“Take it.” Nalethia sighed. “Your earnestness is adorable, Lieutenant, but not when it leads you to deny the hospitality of a superior officer.”

Andre sighed and held out a hand, accepting the glass and raising it in a brief salute to Nalethia before taking a brief sip. The liquor burned far more than expected, and Andre let out a brief cough as the liquid embers trailed their way down his throat. Blinking his eyes, he saw her watching him with a hooded gaze, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

“This isn’t something humans normally have, is it Ma’am,” he managed to gasp out.

“Oh, on the contrary, Lieutenant, Serrice Ice is rather popular among your kind these days.” Nalethia’s smile widened. “Though it does take some getting used to.”

Andre took another sip, smaller this time---but the burn also wasn’t quite as dramatic, either. It was still enough to make him wince. “I see what you mean.”

Nalethia swirled her glass, cubes clinking lightly as she studied Andre. “Tell me, Lieutenant, is this your first campaign soldiering alongside aliens?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Andre forced himself to meet her blue-hued gaze, suddenly feeling very awkward. The chair was far more comfortable than anything in his barracks, and while he knew rank had its privileges among Eclipse, it was weird to be privy to them himself.  “I never did any joint ops or training exercises.”

“Curious.” The Captain dragged out the word, still watching Andre over the rim of her glass. “And combat experience?”

Andre coughed, struggling to make the words come. “...I was at the Skyllian Blitz, Ma’am.”

Nalethia briefly regarded him for a few seconds, expression suddenly inscrutable, and very, very alien. Then she lifted her glass. “To Elysium’s fallen.”

Andre blinked. Muzzle flashes, bodies, gunfire crashed in on him---screams for help from the wounded, pleas for mercy from the civilians and the laughter of the criminal scum butchering them. It was easy enough to keep it under control, most days, to forget about it or keep it locked down. He’d  _ coped _ , far better than the Alliance head-shrinkers and civvie therapists had thought or said he ever would. He was still out here soldiering, he wasn’t a basket case, he  _ wasn’t _ \---but every now and again, like the recovery op, like being helpless in a dropship hanging in space, or when he had to bring his mind back to it now...

He could feel himself drifting dangerously close to it. Time didn’t heal all wounds, sometimes it just scabbed them over.

There was a sudden pressure on his chin, and Andre’s eyes shot open to reveal Nalethia T’Resh tilting his face up to look at hers, expression uncharacteristically and openly concerned. “Lieutenant?”

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Andre winced at how raspy his voice was, and took a hefty swig of his drink, not bothering to conceal his cough at the burn. “Memories.”

Understanding flashed through the Captain’s eyes, and she withdrew her hand---though not without caressing his chin. “Of course. I’ve been at this with one uniform or another for a good few centuries, now. We all pick them up, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Andre once again found himself having trouble making eye contact; it was a lot easier to look down at the Serrice Ice brandy. “We do, Ma’am.”

Nalethia swirled her drink again, pensively regarding the clear liquid. “...have you ever heard any stories from your fellow platoon leaders about their time in the Commandos?”

Grateful for the change in topic, Andre shook his head. “No Ma’am. Mostly we just made fun of Rid for being so cagey about STG. When Enyala wasn’t giving the Alliance a hard time.”

The Captain chuckled at that, finally taking a sip of her brandy. “You know, we never did find out if he was truly with them. We had a fellow once who claimed to be with them, and it turned out he was. As a logistics officer attached to their support element.”

Andre laughed in turn, settling back into his chair as the liquor suffused him, the burn giving way to something far more soothing. He could feel a lazy smile settling over his face as he waved his glass dismissively. “Nah, Ma’am, it’s---some people like that have to hype themselves up. I don’t blame ‘em for it, if you’ve actually been on a two-way range, it’s---it’s not the most fun thing in the world, you know?”

“I don’t, frankly.” Nalethia shrugged. “I have been soldiering for several of your centuries, my dear Andre. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t love it.”

That bought the Lieutenant up short, and for a second Andre felt naked, vulnerable, as if he’d exposed some inner truth about himself that he should never have stated to his commander. He briefly looked away. “...it’s not always like this, Ma’am. With a full support structure and your buddies on your left and right. Sometimes there’s a lot more blood than mud you have to deal with.”

Nalethia leaned in, taking his chin in her grasp with an almost businesslike air. She didn’t exert much pressure, but her touch was not to be resisted as she moved Andre’s gaze back over to her. Her expression was hard, but not without something far more...tender, almost, concealed beneath it.

“You’ve been somewhere, Lieutenant,” said the Captain, leaning in close to Andre as her fingers spread to cup his jaw. “Seen something that you carry with you still. Let me help you.”

Andre’s eyes widened, nostrils flared. He’d heard stories--- “Ma’am, I don’t think this is appropriate---”

In what? In the regular military, maybe, but this was  _ Eclipse _ . And if the Captain wanted to do some unconventional therapy…

“Relax.” Captain Nalethia’s voice, though soothing, had a hint of command in it, and Andre found himself melting forward into her grasp. “Find what it is you carry, what weighs you down...and show me.  _ Embrace eternity _ .”

The galaxy suddenly flashed before Andre, existence spread out so he could comprehend it---

\---and then he was being shaken out of his reverie. It was Gunnery Chief Antoine Mulamba, his partner for shore leave on Elysium, coal-black features spattered with blood and roaring for another thermal clip or else the MG was gonna go dry, and then they would be  _ absolutely fucked _ .

It was just the two of them strongpointing the shopping center. Them, and a bunch of terrified civvies with rifles. There were three of them on either side of the two Marines, spewing forth fire from their scavenged Avengers with varying degrees of precision, and as Andre dug in his mag pouches for a thermal clip to toss over, two of them were downed in quick succession by far more accurate fire from beyond.

“There’s blood!” barked Mulamba, her voice like a thunderclap over the din of combat.

“What?” Andre blinked.

“Blood on the clip, get me a clean one!”

Andre reached into his belt and came up empty, cursed, and started crawling over to the closer of the two casualties. The young man was still alive, eyes glassy and rolling wildly, blood smeared over his face and alternating profanities with pleas for his mother, his deity, whatever would ensure his survival.

There was, of course, nothing that could. This was Elysium. And against the rampaging horde of underworld scum laying waste to the colony all that the ragtag defenders---a few Marines on leave and their armed civilian friends---could hope to do was delay the inevitable that much longer.

It was way easier now for Andre to ignore the man’s frantic cries and increasingly weak tugs at his shirt in favor of sifting through his pockets for spare thermal clips. He found just one, hardly unexpected given the civvies’ poor fire discipline, and scrambled back over to Mulamba as the man’s death rattle faded behind him. The Gunny snatched the clip from Andre, slotted it home, and resumed full cyclic suppression fire with the Revenant they’d snatched off a dead batarian.

Incoming fire began to slacken; Andre hefted his own scavenged weapon, one of the ubiquitous Avengers, and lent his own fire to the fray. “Hey! Anyone here an EMT?”

The civvies looked over. A young woman raised her hand. “I--I’ve been trained in first aid.”

Great. “Alright, see what you can do for the wounded. Everyone else cease fire, scrounge mags and ammo off the dead and pool what we got. They’ll be back.” Andre looked over to Mulamba. “Gunny that means you too.”

The truculent NCO harrumphed her irritation but ceased fire on the Revenant. There’d be time enough for it later.

Andre took a deep breath, looking up and down the line. Six of them. Four civilians and two Marines, strongpointing a strip mall and waiting for the pirates and slavers to come crashing against their defenses like an underworld tsunami. Andre’s clothing was coated with dust, debris, and blood, and he knew his face wasn’t much better. Gunny Mulamba looked like a figure out of some historical epic, three symmetrical scars from a turian’s knives slashing their way down either side of her face. She hadn’t given a damn about the blood, or so she’d said. Andre knew it had to hurt like hell.

There had been rumors of a whole platoon of infantry Marines on leave taking the fight to the enemy, seizing an AA tower and fighting off anyone and everyone sent to take it back. Andre envied them right now, but the least he could do with his civvies was make a semi-decent fight of it.

One round cracked past the defenses. Then another. Then a whole volley.

Time to carry on.

“On the line!” roared Andre, bringing up his Avenger and flicking the thermal optics online. One, two, three white-lit figures revealed themselves in the building beyond. Andre exhaled, squeezed, and had the pleasure of seeing one drop and the rest scatter for cover. Next to him the cacophonous rhythm of the Revenant had stuttered back to life, Gunny Mulamba resuming her suppression. The civvies had joined the party too, and this time they’d actually decided to exercise some fire discipline, flicking their rifles over to semi-automatic as they cracked away.

The incoming fire hadn’t slackened in the least, but something was off---the slavers weren’t pushing, and the alien horde had  _ never  _ failed to take the offensive. Andre frowned, lowered his rifle and turned to ask the Gunny what she thought.

He never had the chance; the rocket that sailed over their impromptu barricades swallowed up Mulamba and her beloved Revenant---plus three of the remaining civvies---in a gout of flame. Andre was just far enough out of the blast radius to survive, but he could barely move, couldn’t open his eyes. All he could do was cough for breath and listen to the cries of the civvies cut short by precision gunfire. If he could see again he could fight, if he could fight he could go down swinging---

\---Andre opened his eyes. He was in a prefab. In an office. In a chair. Wearing clean clothes, with the shattered remains of a fancy drink glass on the floor next to him, and a very concerned looking asari gently stroking his jaw.

Captain Nalethia’s eyes were black---and then suddenly faded back to their vivid blue. The veteran mercenary commander said nothing, not immediately, but instead leaned forward to envelop Andre in a gentle hug.

“I’m so sorry, Andre. I’m so, so sorry.”

He managed to conceal the choked sob that threatened to burst free, a natural reaction to the scab, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to return the Captain’s hug. For a few brief seconds in the arms of this alien who had spent several lifetimes killing, Andre finally felt safe.

Then the Captain withdrew, Andre followed suit. He couldn’t make eye contact, looking down at the shattered tumbler of brandy. “...sorry about the glass, Ma’am.”

“Nevermind that, Andre.” Judging by the clink of ice out of his field of vision, Nalethia was more than making up for his clumsiness. “Tell me...what happened after Torfan?”

Andre swallowed. “Ma’am, this should all be in my file.”

An undertone of iron entered the Captain’s voice. “Perhaps, but I want to hear for myself.”

She couldn’t know. She’d think he was weak, unworthy of his commission, of the second chance Eclipse had given him---

\---but fuck it. He’d already gone for broke here. What harm would more displays of vulnerability do? Andre inhaled a ragged breath, forcing himself to look up to Nalethia, meet her intense blue gaze. Once more his eyes were drawn to the elegant intricacy of her tattoos, and once more he wished he could ask her what they meant.

“...I was a Category Six discharge, Ma’am. Do you know what that designation means?”

“No.” Nalethia reached out to take Andre’s hand and squeeze it gently. Lacquered nails ran along his palm, and for a second Andre could feel his thoughts go fuzzy. “Tell me.”

Another breath. “...psychologically unfit to serve, Ma’am. ‘Cat-Six-Crazy.’”

Nalethia tilted her head, nails now running up the inside of Andre’s arm as she pondered him. “Because of the weight you carry?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” More poetic than he’d have put it, but accurate enough. Andre let out a sigh, but this time it wasn’t from the memories. “Because of the weight I carry.”

“Mm.” The asari nodded---and then abruptly withdrew her hand and got to her feet. Andre blinked, then followed suit, frowning as Nalethia motioned towards the door.

“Ma’am?”

“Thank you for your time, Lieutenant.” Her voice had shifted towards its usual peremptory tones, the tenderness gone...for now, at least. “We’ll speak more when I’ve a tasker for your platoon. For now, you’re dismissed.”

Andre blinked...but this was clearly not something to be questioned. He bought his hand to his temple in salute, and paced out of the prefab, trying to keep his breathing under control.

* * *

**///MESSAGE BEGINS///**

**> >** **MESSAGE FROM:** Human Resources Command, Systems Alliance Navy

 **> >MESSAGE TO:** Andre Protin, 1LT, A/2/8 Marine Infantry, 103 MARDIV

 **> >SUBJECT: **Category-6 Discharge

 **> >MESSAGE: **Lieutenant Protin, following the review of your mandatory psychological examination following the battle on Elysium (also known as the 'Skyllian Blitz'), it is the assessment of the medical review board that you have been severely traumatized, and your recovery would be severely hindered by continued service in the Alliance Marine Corps. It is the further assessment of the board that your trauma and the steps needed for recovery unfortunately render you unfit for current service with the Alliance Navy. We are accordingly separating you from the service as a Category 6 Separation.

 **> >**This will be the equivalent of an honorable separation due to the context behind the categorization. Any tuition reimbursement or other benefits not currently made up by your service to date will not need to be repaid, and you will have no obligations of any kind to the Systems Alliance Navy. Medical services will be made available at no charge to you to provide you with the recovery and support you need.

 **> >**A bar to re-enlistment has been placed on your personnel record. No further benefits will be paid to you or any dependents. No appeals will be permitted for this decision.

**///MESSAGE ENDS///**

 


	13. Incendiaries

_Camp Umbra, Anhur, 2177_

 

“Happy New Year, LT!”

Andre Protin, half-asleep where he stood in the trench dugout, all but dropped his rifle at the perky voice from behind him. “ _Fuckin’_ \---Vanguard Sarn’t, what have I _told_ you about doing that?”

Xeli T’Veya looked entirely too cheerful for someone who’d just scared the living daylights out of her platoon leader. “Not to Sir, but you had me worried, with your laserlike focus on what’s outside the wire---”

“Spare me.” Andre reached up to stifle a yawn. “Is it really seventy-seven?”

“Yup.” T’Veya clambered down into the dugout next to Andre, peering briefly off into the distance. There was, of course, nothing. APLA hadn’t made any assaults on Camp Umbra since the last raid that had seen poor Operative Bryn and all the rest killed. Andre personally blamed that on the recent offensives his company and the rest had carried out, but Jona Sederis was still gun-shy enough that she’d ordered the defenses be enhanced: at least one platoon of Eclipse troopers manning the trenches, plus mechs, _plus_ a platoon of Anhur militia.

Plus others. Emilia and her black-clad not-commandos were roaming the line, somewhere. Andre and her had exchanged a few pleasantries over the comm, terse out of expediency rather than ill-feeling, but he’d yet to run into her. In fact, he’d been manning this position solo save for the occasional clomping YMIR mech or whirring LOKI patrol, a one-man command post.

“Yeah, it’s really 2177.” Xeli T’Veya shifted over the large radio and tactical plot taking up a third of the fighting position before proffering Andre something small and silver. “You oughta celebrate, Sir. And why’re you in here alone?”

Andre frowned, ignoring the alcohol. “Seems to be SOP for us, yeah?”

T’Veya smiled patiently. “You’re our CO, you need your team to watch out for you. Can’t do everything on your own.”

There was no point in sighing ruefully, so Andre just settled for a weary smile. “And let me guess---had you known I was trying to run a one-man shop you’d have been in here to help me out. With what totally isn’t a flask, right?”

“C’mon, LT, stop thinking like Alliance.” T’Veya shook her head tolerantly. “We’re _Eclipse_ , so some regular-army stuff gets left behind, which means you need to have some Serrice Ice to celebrate the new year.”

Now Andre did sigh, looking at the flask. “You’ll never let me forget it if I turn this down, will you Vanguard Sarn’t?”

T’Veya, still grinning, shook her head. “Nope.”

“Alright, come on then.” Andre held out a hand to accept the flask, opening the cap as he settled down to review troop positions and let radio chatter wash over him. The asari liquor still burned like hellfire, but he was prepared for it this time at least. “Who’s relieving us this morning?”

“I think Captain Vesh’s company.” T’Veya reached out to take the flask back, taking a far more generous swig.

Andre reached out once more for the flask, then lowered his hand as a series of dull thuds sounded in the distance. Mortars, to be sure, but…

“Incoming or outgoing?” he murmured.

T’Veya gave him a crooked smile. “Good thing we’re down here.”

But Andre hadn’t heard her, tensed up, _waiting_ . For a brief second the dugout around him blurred, rough-hewn walls resolving into smashed store shelves and scattered goods, hasty barricades and blood. There hadn’t been much artillery used during the Blitz, but when it _had_ been called in…

...explosions suddenly sounded along the trenchline, and Andre came crashing back to reality. Instinct took over, and he was already keying his comm. “Stand-to! All Renegade Three elements, stand-to!”

And then he was grabbing his Vindicator and hustling out of the dugout into the trenches, vaguely aware of Xeli T’Veya yelling something concerned-sounding behind him.

Outside, gunfire and infernos were already lighting up the night; the APLA had used incendiary rounds, and more than one gout of fire had mushroomed to life in the trenches. A whir of servos and a baritone warning behind Andre heralded a duo of YMIR mechs stomping towards the front, jumping from one end of the trench to another and indiscriminately spraying no-man’s land beyond with fire from their machine-guns. They were immediately targeted by small-arms, plodding forward until their armor was overwhelmed and first one, then the other cooked off as their last-ditch self-destruct mechanisms activated.

In the light of their explosions, Andre saw the enemy hurtling towards the trenchline.

The APLA’s mainstay forces weren’t just batarians, there were plenty of humans, quarians, and turians in their ranks, enslaved and conditioned to fight their masters’ wars. It was a quarian now that jumped into the trench in front of Andre, a wicked-looking blade in hand. He didn’t have time to activate his omniblade, no time to go for the jump knife on his belt. As the alien lunged, shrieking an electronically-filtered cry, Andre threw himself backward. Flat on his back, he bought his rifle round and triggered a burst into the alien’s midsection.

It was the wrong move. The quarian crumpled, but not before a very turian foot descended on Andre’s face. He felt his nose crack, gasped for breath, blindly triggered fire from his rifle---

\---and then the weight was suddenly off him, the turian falling to the ground next to him. Andre looked up and found Vanguard Sergeant T’Veya standing over him, offering a hand. “C’mon LT! You’re not done yet!”

Andre grabbed her hand, getting to his feet and trying to ignore the pain in his nose. With a grunt, he reached into his kit to grab a bottle of pain reliever pills---no need to waste the medigel, yet---and grabbed a couple to toss back. “How’re we doing Vanguard Sarn’t?”

“Platoon’s all on-line, rallying half a klick north up the trenchline. Captain Nalethia’s bringing the rest of the company up now.”

He’d been an idiot, charging in blind like a Private and not an officer. “Yeah, fair enough. Let’s go!”

They set off down the trench, ducking the occasional incoming mortar round, parachute flare, and exploding mech. The company had deployed all their mechs on the line, and they weren’t molested by enemy until they made it to the platoon area. Third Platoon was on the firing step, blazing away, and behind them was a familiar female figure in black armor barking orders. Emilia looked over at the sight of Andre and T’Veya arriving and waved a sardonic greeting.

“Glad you two could make it to take charge of your own damn platoon!” said the not-a-commando---but her expression softened as she saw Andre’s face. “You OK, LT?”

“Severe case of turian boot-to-the-face,” Andre managed to get out, gingerly fingering his nose. “Casualties?”

“None yet.” Emilia glanced over her shoulder; down the rest of the trenches, more figures in yellow armor could be seen racing to man the defenses. “Got my team split up to help out the other platoons.”

Andre shook his head. “This is ridiculous, we keep swapping casualties like this we won’t be able to do shit to---”

_“INCOMING!”_

All parties threw themselves flat, and as the incendiary round exploded just behind the trenchline, Emilia laughed. “You’re not wrong, been saying the same thing myself.”

“Maybe people will finally start listening!” said T’Veya, getting upright once more. “Here they come again!”

Andre hauled himself back to his feet, trying not to think about how hard it was to breathe through his nose right now. “You heard the Vanguard Sarn’t, people, let’s keep it up!”

The platoon once more resumed their firing positions with a will, letting fly at the morass of sentient life throwing themselves against their bulwarks. The mechs had long since fallen, but there were more than enough organic bodies to make up for it. Looking down the line, Andre couldn’t help but notice just how much fire was going forth. Emilia hadn’t been lying, the entirety of the company had been stood-to.

Nothing to do for it but hold. There were no fancy orders to be given here, no tactics to be decided. Their backs were against the wall.

A blue-skinned figure in yellow armor came blurring down the trenchline, scattering APLA batarians and slave soldiers alike in her wake. Andre brought about his rifle for the briefest of seconds, before the new arrival’s familiar glass-cutting voice began snapping for his presence, and he hurried over to Captain Nalethia.

“Lieutenant, report!”

“There’s tons of ‘em, Ma’am, seems like an all---” Andre ducked as something exploded at the edge of the trenchline. There were cries from the troopers on the firing line, shouts for medics, and a quartet of asari hustled forward. “Ma’am, we might need to call in FPF.”

FPF. Final protective fire. When danger-close failed and the defenders couldn’t hold, there was always the time-tested strategy of calling in artillery right down on their own heads, or as close as they could get and survive. Captain Nalethia gave Andre a look, one of measured intensity he couldn’t quite read, glanced up the trenchline, and back to the Lieutenant.

“No. Have your vanguards prep barriers.”

Andre blinked---then he got it. The Captain wasn’t one for ‘as close as they could’ when she had magic shields to bring to bear. “Yes, Ma’am. Vanguard Sarn’t!”

Xeli T’Veya looked up from where she was dumping SMG fire into a downed human. “LT!”

“Reform the platoon! Vanguards prep barriers!”

Shock blossomed in T’Veya’s eyes, but Andre’s platoon sergeant was far too much of a professional to let it show beyond that. “You got it LT! Renegade Three, this is Three-Seven, rally on me, have vanguards prep shields---”

At the same time, a familiar teeth-grinding voice was crackling over the company command freq: Chief Yehlen Pek sounded even more bemused than usual. “Athame Six this is Renegade Seven, fire mission, over.”

Static, then the laconic voice of Camp Umbra’s artillery commander. “This is Athame Six, send it.”

“Athame Six, give us some wrath of the tides, over.” Pek’s voice didn’t hesitate. “Say again, wrath of the tides. Every tube, every rocket.”

To their credit, the battery commander didn’t hesitate either. “Confirmed. You have two mikes to get barriers up, repeat two mikes to splashdown.”

Yellow armor was already clattering around Andre, Third Platoon’s vanguards getting in position and preparing to project barriers. It was critical they didn’t pop their biotics until as close to the artillery impact as possible so they didn’t tire themselves out---but of course, if they did so too late, there wouldn’t be much of anything for their barriers to protect. The regular infantry and heavies continued to keep up the fire against the enemy still trying to storm the trenchline.

T’Veya came trotting up next to Andre and clapped him on the shoulder. “One minute to splash LT, platoon’s all formed up.”

Andre nodded, keeping his Vindicator ready. “Alright standby. Maintain fire!”

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. Thirty.

A grenade sailed into the trenchline and landed right next to Andre.

Someone gave the inevitable shout of “GRENADE!” and a biotic pulse blossomed to shove the explosive device out of the way, but not before Andre had dove clear---right before the platoon’s barriers had flared to life. And Andre knew once those barriers were up, they wouldn’t be coming back down until the bombardment had halted. Xeli T’Veya, on the other side of the barrier, had a look of horror plastered across her face.

Lying in the dirt, Andre couldn’t help but give her a crooked grin. After the Cat-6, this was only fitting.

Twenty seconds to splash.

Ten.

Five.

Someone biotic-charged over to loom over Andre, flaring their barrier to life just as the first rounds started to slam into the trenchline.

_Wrath of the tides_ was an asari religious term; from what text or which goddess Andre had no idea, but it was apt because there was nothing more than a tsunami of fire erupting outside the barricade. There were cries of terror, pain, and shock from the APLA assaulters, swallowed up in short order by the indirect-fire inferno blossoming to life outside. The figure above him was groaning with the exertion of keeping their barrier up, and Andre could see the blue steadily shrinking---

\---and then the bombardment was over, and without further ado Captain Nalethia T’Resh collapsed to one knee over Andre, gasping for air.

“Ma’am? You---” Andre looked over to where his soldiers were before hauling himself to his feet. “Vanguard Sarn’t! Get me reports from the teams and police up our wounded! I’m gonna help the Captain.”

Xeli T’Veya gave Andre a thumbs-up and began barking out orders to the platoon. Without further ado he turned around to get a hand under the Captain’s arm, hauling her to her feet. She was lighter than he’d have thought in full kit, or maybe she was just helping him more than he’d expected.

“You should be with your platoon, Lieutenant,” murmured Nalethia as they began to stagger down the trenchline to her command post. “Your soldiers…”

“You saved my life, Ma’am,” retorted Andre, not caring about how right she was. Right now he was having trouble thinking of how this woman had held off the wrath of the batteries just to spare him. “Besides, the company won’t be in good shape if you die on us from overexertion. Are you wounded anywhere?”

A rueful chuckle from the Captain, a languid shake of her head. “No, my dear Lieutenant. I’m alright. Merely...underestimated what a toll that such an effort would have on me.”

“Bullshit, Ma’am,” Andre said.

Nalethia T’Resh laughed and buried her face in the crook between Andre’s neck and shoulder, nuzzling once before letting out a weary sigh. For a bit they simply trudged down the line, just another pair of wounded soldiers getting out of the way of the combat-effectives...if it wasn’t for where the Captain was resting her head, or how one of her arms had risen to circle around Andre’s waist.

He could smell something on her, something besides mud and blood. A certain woody scent, the same kind that had suffused his senses when she’d sought to see the weight he’d carried from the Skyllian Blitz. It was a reassuring sense,even though Andre had no idea how it was still there after the skirmish, and he found himself leaning his head against the Captain’s. There was a tension to it, ready to jerk away at the slightest sign he’d overstepped his bounds.

But Captain Nalethia T’Resh gave no such sign. And that arm round his waist only tightened to draw him closer.

It wasn’t long before they were out of the trenchline and back in the confines of Camp Umbra. It was a short walk through the mud; Nalethia had insisted her prefab be close to the perimeter so she could respond quickly in the event of an attack. No, the Captain had never been one to lead from the rear, and as the door slid open Andre could see her shotgun lying against the wall. The Captain had scrambled with nothing more than armor and biotics to look after her people.

“In the corner, please, Andre…” murmured Nalethia against his neck.

“Eh, Ma’am? Oh!” Andre looked over and steered the pair towards the bedding in the corner. It was luxurious only because it was the only one in the prefab, otherwise, it was the same hard cot that any other Eclipse trooper slept on. With a quick turn, Andre settled down on the edge, letting Nalethia down gently as he could before casting about for some high-calorie snacks for her.

The Captain, for her part, quickly moved to make herself comfortable. Armor seals were disengaged with a hiss. As Andre stood up to dig around through the box of MRE components near the bed, he could hear the clatter of boots, greaves, gauntlets, and cuirasse all hitting the ground, followed shortly thereafter by the Captain going supine on the bed with a blissful sigh.

“Oh, it _does_ feel good to get off one’s feet,” came the voice from behind Andre. “Lieutenant, if there’s any Armali Shooting Stars, I’d do so love to have some of those…”

Islanded in a sea of unfamiliar alien snacks, Andre mentally took a second to thank the asari goddess for the Captain’s help as he snagged a box of candies. “No worries, Ma’am.”

There was what sounded an awful lot like a zipper being undone from behind him. “Never was, my dear Andre. Now come here.”

Andre turned around, and stopped dead in his tracks. It _had_ been a zipper. And Nalethia was sitting on the edge of the bed, undersuit unzipped to her waist, revealing a toned torso cross-hatched by scars, and a sports bra holding back what he had never dared hope to touch. The Captain’s smile was mischievous, there was no mistaking it, and she almost seemed to revel in how her subordinate’s eyes explored her. One hand raised, a purple-lacquered nail beckoned. Like a man in a daze, Andre walked over.

Nalethia T’Resh looked up at him, eyes unreadable despite the haughty amusement writ across her features. “Open the box, my dear, and on your knees.”

Andre did as bidden, breaking open the box of candies before descending to his knees in front of Nalethia. He was looking _up_ at her, now, her lofty form looming over him like a colossus. But he was not intimidated. In fact, he almost felt more comfortable down here than ever he had in front of his platoon, and a shy smile dared to tug at his lips.

That smile only seemed to encourage Nalethia, and her eyes flicked over to the box of candies and then back to him, brows arching in a silent question.

Andre reached into the box to produce one of the oblong candies, holding it out to her, almost an offering, almost a prayer.

Nalethia leaned forward, purple-painted lips wrapping around the long candy, before plucking it from his hands to finish it off. The Captain’s eyes fluttered shut, and she swallowed the treat with an almost exaggerated gulp.

The next thing Andre knew a biotic surge was pulsing forth to slam him against the wall.

“Ma’am---!”

But she had already stalked over before the cry had completely left his lips, pressing a nail to them. Another biotic corona flared to life and Andre could hear catches coming undone, seals releasing, could hear his armor clattering to the floor beneath him. He couldn’t see it, of course. Tunnel vision had kicked in, and all he had eyes for was the blue-skinned warrior in front of him. Another sound, now, his own undersuit unzipping, but unlike Nalethia the only thing beneath it was Andre’s own tanned figure.

Then there was something hard-edged yet tender caressing it, tracing musculature, scars, bruises, and blast marks. Andre let out a surprised breath, a whimper, a full-on moan as Nalethia’s nails caressed him. Unheeding of his wishes his body began to twitch and thrash, began to swell and strain at that part of the undersuit the Captain hadn’t seen fit to unzip just yet. “Ma’am---p-p-please----”

Nalethia had not once broken eye contact, and it was with a wicked, wicked smile she regarded her Lieutenant. “Please what, Andre? Do you want me to stop?”

Not death by batarian slaver, not losing his platoon, not even reliving the Skyllian Blitz yet again would compare to the sheer existential agony of _that_. Andre frantically shook his head, not trusting words just yet.

A faint _hmph_ of approval and Nalethia traced Andre’s jawline with a genuine smile. No asari blueblood hauteur, no tolerant-officer demeanor, just simple pleasure. “No. Nor do I.”

Then she was reaching up to grab his slicked-back hair, yanking him in for a ferocious kiss.

Anhur, Eclipse, the Alliance, the Blitz---all of it melted away for Andre as their tongues met and mated, as he drank in her taste, so unlike anything any woman he’d kissed had been and had given him. He felt himself growing harder still, painfully so, and her own form slowly rocked and grinded against him in turn.

Andre Protin whimpered into the kiss: a plea, a prayer, a name--- _her_ name.

And when Captain Nalethia T’Resh finally came up for air, grinning a crooked, wicked grin, she couldn’t help but laugh at the flabbergasted, ecstatic, almost _shy_ look on her Lieutenant’s face.

“Well now, my dear Andre,” she said, once more grabbing his hair to pull his forehead against hers. “I daresay you’re mine now.”

* * *

 

**CODEX ENTRY**

Eclipse Doctrine - Fraternization:Most human soldiers, upon their first interactions with the asari military, are often struck by the seemingly lax attitude towards interpersonal relationships within the ranks. Soldiers of varying ranks address each other by first names (when doing so is appropriate), play cards and drink with each other, and in general are extremely familiar with each other. Perhaps most shockingly to humans, the Republics military has no compunctions about allowing relationships between its soldiers, even those of wildly disparate ranks. Even casual intimacy occurs with surprising (again, to human soldiers) regularity.

When Jona Sederis founded Eclipse, she had zero intention of allowing human soldiers of joining her ranks, and indeed salarian membership was not considered at the time. Seeking to package Republics military capabilities for private-sector use, regulations---or rather a lack thereof, in this case---were bought over wholesale. When salarian soldiers were recruited, they found the asari policy bemusing but logical, so long as mission effectiveness was not impacted, there was no reason to damage morale by forbidding relationships.

But when Eclipse started recruiting humans and the more xenophiliac asari officers found humans in their formations, they were in for a culture shock. Taken aback to find their commanders and NCOs (or even more lofty superiors) coming on to them, human soldiers began reporting come-ons up the chain of command, only to be met with befuddlement from the admin officers receiving the complaints. It was some time before Eclipse's human contingent got used to fraternization in their ranks,  _with_ all ranks, as being the new-normal. Even still, old habits and training die hard. While some human Eclipse turned out to be just as curious about their asari masters as the asari were them, others remain far more straight-laced about such matters...much to the disappointment and bafflement of their would-be lovers within their formations.

Of interesting note is the relative rarity of inter-human relationships within Eclipse. Some have attributed this to it being easier to overcome human military doctrine when said doctrine is broken with aliens. Others whisper, not entirely vindictively, that the asari simply have the odds in their favor given the demographics of Eclipse.


	14. Aftermath

_Camp Umbra, Anhur, 2177_

The trenches were strewn with bodies. LOKI mechs, striding through the mud, were simply taking the APLA dead and tossing them in convenient burn pits stoked by a few unlucky flame troopers out of some unit or another of the Anhur militias. Other mechs more carefully hauled away the dead from Eclipse, policing up armor, tags and ammo to account for the dead and make sure their equipment was put to good use by their comrades.

Lieutenant Andre Protin, still nursing his broken nose as he strode through the trenches, wasn’t sure he wanted to know what was happening to _those_ bodies.

Third Platoon had been hit bad, even with the wrath of the tides. Eight dead, more wounded---almost twenty-five percent casualties all told. Andre had yet to hear how Enyala and Wasea’s units were doing but at the rate they were soaking up casualties it would be a miracle if 76 Company made it off Anhur in anything approaching combat-ready condition.

Something squished under his boot and _held_ it. With a curse, Andre looked down to see the body of a quarian, almost completely buried in the mud, a stiffened hand grabbing onto his armor. With a will, he jerked his leg free and shook off the feeling of profound unease before moving on. There had been a weirdly large number of the three-fingered suit-wearing aliens among the APLA’s slave soldiers; maybe they’d been intended for use as combat engineers, but they’d wound up conditioned to be berserkers same as all the rest.

“Making friends, LT?”

The voice from behind him was perky, far more than the subject matter warranted, but Andre would have expected no less of Xeli T’Veya. “Vanguard Sarn’t. Final tally?”

T’Veya’s omnipresent smile flickered out as Andre turned round to face her, and her omnitool flared to life. “...initial estimates were short. Eight dead, seven wounded.”

Fifteen soldiers out of a forty-odd-strong platoon. That was almost _fifty_ percent casualties, and for a second Andre had to focus hard to keep his mind on the here and now. So he thought about Nalethia T’Resh, something guaranteed to give him laser-sharp focus. The events of the previous night still didn’t seem entirely real...but when he’d walked out of the Captain’s prefab this morning she had---very explicitly and salaciously---told him that their rendezvous would be far from a one-time deal.

But right now he had soldiers to worry about. “Hell. How are the survivors holding up?”

“We need to take the fight to the enemy, LT.” T’Veya shook her head. “All this trading casualties defending the camp bullshit, it’s sapping morale on top of our numbers and it’s not doing shit to advance our mission---and you damn well need to tell the Captain that. She’ll listen to you.”

Andre frowned. “Aren’t you Sisterhood or something? Won’t that give your voice credence?”

T’Veya gave Andre a knowing smirk. “Oh it does, but there are some things even a Vanguard Sergeant doesn’t dare tell a company commander. Besides. She _likes_ you.”

There wasn’t much he could do to stop the flush from coming, so instead Andre settled for glaring at T’Veya. “Steady, Vanguard Sarn’t.”

The other blinked, surprised, then laughed. “Relax, LT. This ain’t the Alliance. Long as it doesn’t mean we can’t get shit done, that kinda thing is just fine.”

“Look, I---” The HUD of Andre’s tech armor suddenly flared to life with a message: all 76 Company leadership to Captain Nalethia’s prefab. “...huh. I guess I’ll get a chance to air our concerns sooner than we thought. Make sure the squad leaders keep seeing to the wounded. No red sand or Hallex till we’ve got everyone stabilized, tracking?”

“You got it LT.” T’Veya clapped Andre on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you up there.”

Andre nodded, and with one last look down at the dead quarian, he turned round to set off for Camp Umbra.

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, he was late to the party. Enyala and Wasea were already standing in Captain Nalethia’s prefab, swigging from a flask and lighting up a cigarette respectively. Andre didn’t need to ask where the Operatives for their platoons were at; there was only one reason for the salarians to not be attending the briefing.

Enyala looked up from her flask and shot Andre a nasty smirk. “Didn’t think you’d be back here so soon, eh furhead? Not vertically at least?”

It hadn’t taken long for word to spread, and Andre had been dreading this particular meeting. Unconsciously he found himself squaring up against Enyala. “Don’t be jealous that the Captain didn’t go for you, Enyala.”

The other lowered her flask, expression changing to one of pure disgust. “You fucking _furhead_ , even you should know you never go Pureblood.”

He’d touched a nerve. Time to poke it harder. “You sure? I see how you look when she goes by…”

A vein was pulsing in Enyala’s neck, and a biotic corona was similarly beginning to spread up one arm. “You miserable fuck, do I look like an Ardat-Yakshi breeder to you? Don’t talk about shit you don’t understand.”

Wasea had been staring at the floor, meditatively puffing on her cigarette. “Hey, Andre, might wanna listen to her for once.”

Enyala’s head snapped over. “ _You_ stay the fuck out of it---”

“What, or you’re gonna pin her after you do the Captain?” Andre couldn’t help it, his mouth was speaking before he even realized what he was saying. Dimly he was aware that he wasn’t going to end this conversation with all his vertebrae intact but _damn_ was it worth it for that fury on Enyala’s face.

Wasea was putting a hand on Enyala’s shoulder, hoping to forestall the inevitable---and it seemed to work. The biotic corona faded and Enyala lowered her arm, still glaring laserlike at Andre.

And then she hurled her flask at him. Hard.

There was no time to dodge, and the thing was heavier than it looked, sending Andre down to a knee pressing a hand to his temple. “Ow, fuckin’---! The hell is that _made_ of?”

Enyala loomed over him, glaring, but any response was forestalled by the door hissing open to herald the arrival of Captain Nalethia and Chief Operative Yehlen Pek. The salarian had a look of supreme exasperation on his face, as if he’d expected little of the longer-lived species, and yet still managed to be continually disappointed.

The salarian was opening his mouth to call the room to attention when Nalethia waved him down. Andre frowned, peering closer. When last he’d seen her, nuzzled up next to her in bed, Nalethia had looked content, at peace. Clearly the news was bad.

“At ease, all of you.” The Captain’s eyes flicked from one officer to another. Enyala stepped back, and Andre stood up.“This is hardly the time for infighting. I don’t need to tell you how bad the APLA hit us last night. You’ve all seen the casualty reports.”

Wasea stubbed out her cigarette with a biotic field, expression grim. “Only for our platoons, Ma’am.”

Nalethia gave Wasea a thin smile. “Bad enough we’re now a half-company. We’re being reorganized around two platoons. Wasea, Enyala, you two will remain in command.”

Andre’s jaw dropped, and he did his utmost to ignore the look of absolute schadenfreude plastered across Enyala’s face. “ _Ma’am_ \---”

“And you, Andre,” continued the Captain, “are being appointed company executive officer. Xeli T’Veya will be company Vanguard Sergeant.”

The smile vanished from Enyala’s face like a pyjak scurrying from a krogan. “ _Ma’am_ \---”

“That will do, Lieutenant.” Nalethia’s voice was tightly controlled, but there was a decidedly amused quality to it. “The reorg has been approved by Lady Sederis herself. As has all other personnel assignments...but I’m sure she’d be happy to hear your complaints.”

Still fuming, Enyala shut up. Andre suppressed a snicker.

Nalethia looked in between her officers, as if expecting questions---but there were none, and the Captain drew herself up. “That’s all I have. See to your units and get them in fighting shape. We’ll be relieved here by Captain Vesh’s company before long, and we’ll be withdrawing to _Penumbra_...and ensure your soldiers get some downtime. That’s all. Dismissed.”

Andre drew himself to attention...and just as he turned to depart, he caught the wink that Captain Nalethia dropped him. Then the mask of discipline was once more donned by the Captain, and Andre took his leave.

 

* * *

 

For once the haughty Melindra Vesh and her unit did indeed manage to relieve 76 Company. They’d proudly rolled into the perimeter at dawn the next day, disgusted at the state of absolute filth that Camp Umbra had been left in while they’d been gallivanting round the rest of Anhur, laying waste to the APLA alongside Anhur militia forces. Nalethia, Andre, and Wasea didn’t have the mental energy to bawl out their relief forces.

Enyala had sent a particularly mouthy asari flying with a biotic blast. Yehlen Pek had decked the other company’s dour Chief Operative with a hook from his only arm.

In the lounge aboard _Penumbra_ , puffing on a cigarette over a hand of cards, Emilia laughed as Andre told her the news. “And you didn’t put them on report or anything?”

“We’re Eclipse,” said Andre, shrugging bemusedly as he tossed another chip into the pot. He’d started thinking of this game as asari poker, but he was as close to figuring out the rules behind it as he had when Enyala had sent him flying last time. “Best save enforcing discipline for when it really matters. Minimizing civvie casualties out here, yes. Putting leadership personnel on report for upholding the company’s honor, no. I call.”

“He’s a smart furhead,” put in Wasea, seated to Andre’s left, and there was none of the bitter sarcasm that would’ve been present had Enyala said it. “Learns fast. Raise by two hundred.”

“You ass,” said Emilia, giving Wasea a glare as she tossed in her cards. “Give me some warning before you fuck me, would you?”

Wasea gave Emilia a crooked smile. “Thought you’d enjoy it more this way.”

Emilia smirked and raised her left hand. “I’m flattered. But there’s usually something here when I’m not in the field.”

“Life is full of disappointments,” said Wasea with a sigh.  “Well, Andre?”

Andre suppressed a groan. Even he could tell this hand was garbage, no sense throwing good money away after bad. “Yeah alright, I fold.”

With a laugh, Wasea gathered up the chips. “Emilia, you gotta teach this guy some more guts, he didn’t even _try_ to bluff me.”

“I’m working on it,” said the freelancer with an almost affectionate look at Andre. “Needs to think more like a commando and less like a grunt.”

Now it was Andre’s turn to sigh. “I _am_ \---”

“No, you’re Eclipse. And _none_ of us are just grunts, furhead.” Wasea gathered up the cards and began to shuffle the deck. “But you’re learning. Who’s in for the next hand?”

“Got one more here,” came a voice from behind Andre. Looking up and around he saw familiar sunburst tattoo and olive skin. Sunflare Three-One gave Andre a clap on the shoulder and reached over to pull up a chair. “If we’re letting Alliance aboard I might as well slum it with you groundpounders...”

Emilia immediately stiffened, hard features growing harder still---but just as quickly, she barked a laugh. “Check your scopes, pilot, I’m just a filthy freelancer. You really think Alliance would waste time with a shithole like this?”

Andre shook his head at Sunflare. Not the time or place to call Emilia on that.

The pilot opened her mouth, closed it again, and settled for irritably tugging on her ponytail. “Yeah, guess I’m just fucked up.”

Wasea, watching the byplay with a cool smile, simply began to deal the cards. “So where the hell have you been anyway, Three-One? Could’ve used you on overwatch the other night.”

Sunflare picked up her cards, fanned them out expertly, and set them down once more. “I bet, heard you guys had a hell of a fight. Never thought I’d hear of a unit actually calling in Wrath of the Tides, shame I couldn’t have seen it...but we had a war to win.”

Andre and Emilia sighed simultaneously. The pilot was keen on living up to her profession’s stereotype tonight, it seemed. Emilia in particular wasn’t in the mood. “Oh shut up, if you were just flying sorties say so and save the bullshit.”

Sunflare looked over, ponytail swaying, and wry eyes narrowed. “No, I meant it. Didn’t you hear what the other units on-planet are up to? We’re moving on New Thebes. Lady Sederis wants this over before whenever the fuck Christmas is out here.”

Wasea frowned. “What’s a Christmas?”

“Human holiday,” said Andre, suddenly feeling cold adrenaline surge through his veins. They were retaking New Thebes, where his old platoon and company had been wiped out almost to the last man, and he _wouldn’t be there_ \--- “Three-One, when’s the attack beginning?”

The gunship pilot gave him an odd look. “It kicked off a couple days ago. Why?”

“...no reason,” Andre said, trying to ignore the fact that no one at the table was buying it. He tried to cover it by tapping an order for a glass of whiskey onto the menu embedded in the table, but he could feel Emilia’s stare boring into him. A message beeped back: the LOKI mech that usually acted as wait staff was too busy dealing with other orders to bring him his drink.

That was fine by Andre. Tapping on the table, he slid his cards. “Gonna grab a refill, be back shortly. Don’t worry about me this round.”

Ignoring the concerned looks from the other card players, Andre stood up to walk to the bar, doing his utmost to keep the emotions roiling within from showing on his face. For once he found himself missing his helmet; it helped with that a _lot_. But right now he didn’t need to look his comrades in the eye. All he had to do was nod at the put-upon LOKI behind the bar, grab the glass of whiskey, and squeeze his eyes shut.

It wouldn’t be that easy of course. Andre could hear someone step up next to the bar next to him. “I’m fine.”

“Then why’re you looking like the Captain dumped you?” came Emilia’s voice.

Andre sighed, forced his eyes open and gave Emilia what he hoped was a suitably unimpressed look. “Does _everyone_ know about that now?”

Emilia’s Look only intensified. “Look, Andre, I know what you went through, I---”

“ _They gave you my personnel records?_ ”

Emilia blinked, then buried her face in her hands. “No, you idiot, I just asked round about where you’d been and what you’d done. And so of course I heard about New Thebes.”

Andre stared down into the whiskey; it was less judgmental right now than Emilia, even if the tinkling of ice cubes when he swirled the glass sounded a bit unimpressed. He hadn’t talked to anyone about 41 Company since Captain Nalethia had had her little sit-down with him the day he’d joined her unit. Captain Fehla T’Meyeur and Chief Nym and the other LTs and all the rest had been quietly grieved---casualties of war, but little else publicly. With each of the companies on Anhur fighting so far apart from each other with so little contact, it was easy to move on for soldiers who hadn’t known them well.

Hell, even Andre hadn’t thought about Captain Fehla and all the rest until tonight. Compartmentalization was a bitch like that.

He finally looked over to Emilia, though not before slugging back some of the whiskey. “Yeah. What’d they have to say about that?”

The not-a-commando shrugged. “Nothing. Just that it was how you came to the unit is all. Enyala called you a ‘refugee,’ but...”

Andre rolled his eyes. “Of course she did.”

Emilia shrugged. “Point being no one holds a whole fuckin’ company’s loss against you, Andre, but if you’re gonna be moody about not going after the place where they went down, _that_ is gonna be an issue.”

More whiskey was sent down the hatch, a sigh issued, and Andre tossed his head like a horse bothered by flies. He looked back over to where Sunflare and Wasea were playing, their card game having been joined in his absence by Chief Pek and another salarian he didn’t recognize. “The other LTs aren’t who I need to talk to about this anyway.”

“No.” Emilia shook her head, albeit in a considerably more sedate fashion. “They’re not.”

Andre took a deep breath. “Alright. Go on and play my hand for me. I’ll go find the Captain.”

 

* * *

 

Nalethia T’Resh was reviewing  a datapad in her quarters when Andre arrived, seated behind her desk as if atop a throne. The Captain’s eyes flicked up at the sound of the door hissing open, a smile briefly flashing across her face before disappearing. Andre had braced to attention immediately after entering the room, a far cry from a lover’s arrival. Nalethia surveyed him for a brief moment, then waved him down. “At ease. I take it you’re here as Lieutenant Protin rather than Andre, tonight?”

Andre relaxed, though he remained standing. “Yes Ma’am.”

Nalethia smiled again, though this one a touch mournfully. “Pity. I could use the latter, right now. Have a seat, Lieutenant.”

He couldn’t help but wince at that one. “Tough night, Ma’am?”

“Quite. And I suspect for similar reasons why you’re here.” Nalethia looked askance at Andre. “Unless I miss my guess.”

“You could’ve told me, you know.” Andre shook his head, trying not to look as plaintive as he felt. “I thought we’d have a part in that, that---”

Nalethia raised a finger. “Lieutenant---Andre. In the Alliance, were platoon leaders made overall aware of the grand strategy several echelons above them? Were Lieutenants made privy to the plans of Generals?”

“No Ma’am, but---”

“Furthermore, _were_ they made privy, would those same Lieutenants have considered it wise to throw a depleted and demoralized company into the fray of one of the largest, most critical battles of a campaign to date?” Nalethia’s face was hard, not that Andre would’ve expected any less. For all her affection that tough edge was as much a part of her as her biotics. “Well, Andre?”

He sighed. “No, Ma’am.”

“Indeed.” Nalethia’s face softened. “...and would it be wise for an officer with a very _personal_ stake in that battle to not have discussed his demons with his peers and commander so that they didn’t impact his performance?”

Andre was silent for a good few seconds, eyes closed. He couldn’t look Nalethia in the eye, after that. “...I didn’t think I _had_ any, Ma’am. Not from New Thebes.”

Nalethia leaned forward, nails ghosting over Andre’s shaven temples, before firmly taking ahold of his hair and pulling him in close. There was a wry smile on her purple lips before she gave Andre a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You humans...no one goes through something as traumatic as being a sole survivor without some demons dogging them, Andre. In the commandos a huntress’ sisters would be there for her, to meld with, to talk with. It is the same here.”

“...not for humans,” Andre said softly, shaking his head, or at least as much as he could with Nalethia still keeping a firm hold on it.. “You really think I could go to Enyala or Wasea or Bryn about this and not be labelled soft? I felt fine. No sense digging too deep.”

Nalethia hummed meditatively as she once more ran fingers over the stubble on Andre’s temples. She’d liked that, he’d noticed, almost as much as she enjoyed the thick shock of hair he wore on top. “No, I suppose not. But you have me, you know.”

Andre’s eyes fluttered shut, a contented sigh escaping his lips as he basked in the sense of Nalethia’s caresses. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good. Because I have _you_ as well, and right now I’ve need of my XO as well as my lover.” Nalethia released Andre’s hair, taking hold of his chin to look him in the eye. “Lady Sederis is giving us a week’s rest cure to refit and rearm. And then, my dear Lieutenant, we’re going to play a part of our own retaking New Thebes. Maybe then you can lay your unaddressed demons to rest.”

* * *

 

**///MESSAGE BEGINS///**

**> >** **MESSAGE FROM:** Lady Jona Sederis

**> >MESSAGE TO: **T'Venos, LTC Preena; Lem, COV Groeh; Vesh, CPT Melindra; T'Resh, CPT Nalethia; D'Veyra, CPT Nassa

**> >SUBJECT: **New Thebes

**> >MESSAGE: **After reviewing the progression of our strategic objectives and the development of a quagmire centered around Camp Umbra, it seems clear to me that we are now coming dangerously close to having this conflict lasting longer than it should. The longer this war goes on, the more the bleeding-heart press will leverage accusations of us prolonging it for our own profit, and such headlines will rapidly replace the images of us liberating slaves. This will not do. 

**> >**I am accordingly directing an immediate offensive against the capital New Thebes to be undertaken by all available elements of 23 Battalion. I leave the grand planning to you, Lieutenant Colonel Preena, but with one caveat: 76 Company will remain at Camp Umbra to tie down APLA forces until they no longer have the manpower to do so. Captain Nalethia has proven outstanding at dealing out far more casualties than she sustains, and we must continue utilizing her forces there to keep the pressure off the remainder of the battalion for as long as possible. They will then be redeployed to support the overall effort as seen fit.

**> >**Our "freelancer" colleagues will be assisting us on this one, though I understand their commander will be remaining with 76 Company and the militia at Camp Umbra. I thank you all for the professional and amicable working relationship you have established with them; such connections will prove useful for future cooperation and, I hope, future contracts. It also means that any negative press about efforts may be smothered based on their reports, but with how humans do so love their 'freedom of the press' smear jobs against our profession, this may be more of a forlorn hope.

**> >**I expect an operations order detailing the plan for the retaking of New Thebes within the day. Operations will commence no later than 72 hours from now. You have made me proud, sisters. Now it is time to show the furheads, blinks, and birds who have been naysayers for so long that Eclipse truly is forever.

**///MESSAGE ENDS///**


End file.
